A Blink of an Eye
by Calim1
Summary: At his lowest ebb, Grissom finds himself in a dangerous situation that could change things in a blink of an eye.
1. Chapter 1

_Howdy! I hope everyone had a happy holiday season and let's hope 2011 is a great year for all of us. (With Grissom showing up (probably in a dinky scene) on CSI on Feb 3rd, well, that sounds like a good way to start a year to me!) _

_Hope you like this piece. There are 6 parts to it and it is complete. However, I may tinker with it as it goes along. _

Onward ~~

* * *

**CSI – A Blink of an Eye**

by Susan Dietz (Calim 1)  
Rating and Reader Alerts: PG  
Category: GG/SS DRA

Story Summary: At his lowest ebb, Grissom finds himself in a dangerous situation that could change things in a blink of an eye.

_© January 2011_

_Feedback is appreciated_

_Disclaimer: The characters and general situations in this story are the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer, however I reserve the rights to the specific details. It is not my intention to infringe upon their rights; this story is purely for the enjoyment of fans. Please do not redistribute in any form_

_Sun to moon, night to day as ever takes place in the blink of an eye._

_I wish for a moment, I wish for a time when happy I'd be if in my arms you would lie._

_But you stopped loving me, stopped being mine and with each passing day I oh so slowly die._

_And no matter what I do, no matter what I say, I'll never know the answer to why._

_For without you by my side, without your loving embrace, I've nothing left but a dark and gloomy sky_

_that makes me feel no longer, makes me hope no more, for I lost everything and all within the blink of an eye._

**Part 1**

**Grissom**

As incredible as it sounds time is standing still.

I've heard it spoken of in movies, in witness accounts, but I didn't truly understand what it entailed, understand its meaning. Not in its entirety anyway. But now . . . now I'm in the midst of it and it's all become clear.

Nothing moves about me – not the air-conditioned air of the convenience store I'm currently standing in, not the sweat on the forehead of the man in front of me or the clenching of my hands into fists at my sides. The both of us are stilled, caught in this singular moment and I've no idea if it's real or my brain playing tricks on me as sort of a last puzzle before I die.

And what has brought time to a standstill? What has driven that steady tick-tick-tick that is our life to a stop? Normally I wouldn't be so bold as to define such a momentous occasion except for one thing – I'm pretty sure I know what the answer is and it's pointed directly at my face. The rather large, nervous man on the other end of the gun barrel aimed between my eyes seems as surprised by his actions as am I. How do I get myself into these things?

Before time stopped the man's hand was shaking as his finger fretfully fingered the trigger of that awfully big gun. He'd been doing that repeatedly, so much so that I stopped flinching and managed to pull my eyes from the mesmerizing blackness of the deep hole at the end of the barrel and centered my gaze on him instead. Looking at those bloodshot green eyes was far better than contemplating how much it was going to hurt when that bullet hits me between the eyes.

But now, since time has taken a breather, I realize I can take advantage of this and dissect my life instead - to think on things that I've accomplished, the people I've met and mentored, the crimes I've solved, the victim's families I've provided closure for and the satisfaction I take from being considered a good scientist. Of course, within the realm of success comes missed opportunities, wasted time and, of course, regret.

Regret.

Regrets.

So many surround me and it makes me wonder if, when this is all over and I'm granted another run at this living thing, will I be able to see what's before me and not let it pass me again? For that is what I regret the most - the things that passed me by. Ah, hell. I'm about to die and giving myself a confession and still can't put a name to my biggest regret.

Sara. There, I said it.

I had her, my Sara, in my life, my bed. Finally, I let myself have her and I've never been happier. And then I lost her. I don't know how but I lost her. I always feared her leaving and, perhaps, that played a part in her walking away, but I don't really know. In fact, I can't figure out what I did to lose her and it's been tying me up in knots.

I thought we'd gotten over the anxious worried feelings that some comments leave behind. I thought we'd moved into understanding when it came to the idea that work and home are separate; that I sometimes had a job to do and it might not always agree with what she wanted. I thought she knew that I would never intentionally hurt her. I thought when I asked her to move in with me she'd no longer have doubts that I would run away, that I'd give her time to think on it, that I wouldn't push.

I thought she knew I loved her without reservation.

How could she think that my wanting to protect her was tantamount to chaining her to a pole? How could she mistake my anger for more than it was? Fear, unadulterated fear, that she could've been killed and I would've been left with nothing to hold onto but guilt over wasting time for all these years. How could she think that way after everything we'd been through?

I've gone over and over how it started, how I pulled her into my office and shut the door and told her she was off the Jeremy Roberts case. I thought she could see my horror over what could've happened when she'd returned to the scene without back up. She scared me. In fact, my heart rate hadn't slowed since I'd heard the news. My palms were sweaty and I needed to sit down but couldn't because I had to make sure she understood how it made me feel to know that she'd put herself in harm's way without a second thought to her own wellbeing or . . . well, to us. Now _I'd_ committed the sin of combining work and home but I couldn't help it. She was my home wherever she went and I wouldn't apologize for that.

But as always happens with me, words jumble on my tongue and fail to come out in any sort of understandable way. And telling her I love her in the midst of our brawl wasn't the smartest thing to do. But I wanted her to know. I wanted her to know that when I suspended her it didn't mean I didn't love her, forever and always.

I guess my timing was off. No, I know my timing was off. It's always off when it comes to Sara. She throws me for a loop, makes me nervous. This is why I struggled so with letting myself get close, because of times like these where I had to be her boss and not her man. I can't help but love her. I always have . . . since the first time I met her.

I hoped she'd hear me, really hear me but knew she didn't. I could tell by the look on her face – that hard, emotionless stare I've seen before when she's trying to control herself – and she said something I'd always worried would come.

"I can't let myself love you anymore not when you don't respect me. It hurts too much." Her voice was flat and quiet and it struck me like a bolt from heaven.

My mouth flopped open like a dead fish and I was pitched into a whirling abyss. How can telling someone you love them be hurtful? Why does she think I don't respect her? Sara is . . . she is my everything – my life, my reason for being, my very soul.

I tried again, thinking maybe she hadn't heard me correctly.

"I love you, Sara," I repeated not bothering to say it any differently. It seemed clear enough.

Her stare became colder still even as she gave me a smirk. "I don't. Not anymore." She turned then and headed toward my office door. "Oh, and one more thing. I quit," she flung over her shoulder. "I quit everything."

And then she was gone and I stood there staring at the space she'd occupied moments before. I didn't move. I couldn't move. Not a sound escaped me. All I could hear was my pounding heart. All I could feel was my stomach dropping to the floor. I'd never felt like that before, like I'd been slammed against a wall repeatedly, and could do nothing else but sit down. I couldn't really focus either and hoped like hell no one would come into my office. I couldn't face anyone. Not now. Not when I felt useless, empty . . . lost. No one should have to face people when they feel like that.

I stared at my desk, at the folder open before me, and saw nothing but squiggly lines that morphed into Sara's sweet face. Rubbing my eyes, I willed myself to keep inside the tears that were building and knew I had to leave. Grabbing my jacket, I headed out of my office and down the hall cringing when Catherine called after me. I didn't turn instead finding the water fountain very interesting as she waltzed up to express her wonder on how I was going to handle Sara. I sighed and wiped at my mouth.

"I suspended her," was all I said not even willing to think on the fact that she'd quit . . . everything.

"Good. She could've gotten herself killed. I know she goes off the deep end on these cases but to go back to a scene without back up . . . That's just foolish. I hope you told her so."

I nodded, giving her a tilt of my head. "Would you . . . I need to leave," I said hoping she wouldn't ask me why and knowing she would. "I-I . . ." She touched my arm and gave me an understanding look.

"You owe me one," was all she said and found a bit of a smile from somewhere. It's all I had.

Quickly leaving and heading home, I had hopes of finding Sara's car in the lot. It wasn't and I sat there until it occurred to me that this is what got me into trouble all those years ago – sitting and waiting. I couldn't let it end this way. I couldn't let her walk away. I'd fought with myself too long not to fight some more.

So I drove to her apartment intending to sit on her porch if need be until she opened the door and spoke to me. But her car wasn't there either. Her key between my fingers, I had every intention of using it, surprising her when she came back to make her listen until all of this mess I had somehow caused was cleared up. But in the hour I waited, she never came and I never got out of the car. It was then it hit me. I deserved this . . . somehow. My waiting so long to commit; my inability to follow through all those years led to this and I hadn't a clue as to how I could change a thing.

I could apologize but was pretty sure she wouldn't accept it.

I could get down on bended knee, grab onto her and never let go.

Or I could wait. She'd waited for me, I could wait for her.

Sighing, I looked out at the sky noting the first rays of the morning sun cutting through the night and knew that I could do a lot of stuff but none of it would matter. I'd seen that look before, the one she threw at me just hours before. She used it the last time she'd threatened to leave, her reasoning the same – she didn't think I respected her1.

I couldn't understand her logic then and don't understand it now. Sara's a great CSI with the ability to focus and pick up strings of ideas off the barest bit of evidence. She demands and gets the respect she deserves from everyone including me. But she's so much more. She's a beautiful and perfect woman for me in that she's strong yet vulnerable, sassy and flirty and completely comfortable with leaving me alone to work through my problems or help me when I ask. She's funny and smart and makes me feel years younger than I am. But the best thing about her is her ability to make me feel safe when it all becomes too much. I respond in kind offering her myself whenever she needs it and even if she doesn't. Everything I do is for her happiness which, in turn, makes me happy whether it's a smile, a kiss, a caress. I would do anything for her.

But now all I want to do is curl up in a ball and never get out of bed; forget that I ever met her all those years ago; forget the feel of her skin against mine, her sweet kisses that make me melt; forget her soft touch and gentle manner as she wraps me about her finger.

But I can't simply erase her from my mind nor do I really want to so I drove away, pulling to a stop in the middle of the dark to wonder on what I'm going to do. How can I get her to understand that all I could see once I found out what she'd done was Holly Gribbs'2 face? All I remembered was the eulogy spoken by friends and family who spoke of losing someone so young. I didn't want to see that. I didn't want to know what it would be like to see Sara lying in a coffin. I don't ever want to lose her but I can't think of a worse way than by being foolhardy. What a useless death that would be.

Sara's the only woman I've ever truly loved. I _had_ to suspend her; had to show her that getting the bad guy, gaining closure for the victim's family, wasn't worth her life. She should've understood that losing her would be the end of me. But despite all my concerns, my hopes that she understood my position, I lost her anyway. Not at the hands of a murderer but by my own. It's such a hard thing to realize it's your fault that the shambles you're soon to face day in and day out are of your own making, even though you may not know or understand how caring for someone could end like this. And there's nowhere for me to go to escape thoughts of her. Not work, not home. She's everywhere. She is . . . was what I needed to be a better man. I guess . . . well, I guess I discovered too late that she was my soul, too, and without her . . . God, without her I am nothing but the Tin Man before Dorothy3 helped him find a heart.

Startled from my thoughts by the cawing of a rather large crow in the tree I'd parked under, I started the engine and decided to go home. Her car still wasn't there but I didn't have anywhere else to go so I slowly made my way to the door, to our door. Stepping inside, my foot struck something hard on the floor. My vision blurred at the sight for staring up at me was a key – Sara's key – the one I'd gifted her at breakfast one morning not too long ago. Her pleased expression as she attached it to her key ring sent me into a happy state of euphoria for the rest of the day and every day she used it to come home to me. Now . . . now it signified the end of the things.

Leaving it on the floor, I headed toward the bedroom vaguely wondering where Hank was only to find him in his own bed, head between his paws looking like he'd lost his best friend.

"You and me both, fella," I whispered to him, my eyes shifting toward the open closet door to not see Sara's duffle she used to store there.

A quick inspection showed me two drawers partially open and empty and a lonely toothbrush in the cup on the bathroom sink that used to hold two. The knot in my stomach grew larger when I spotted the purple quartz crystal unicorn sitting atop the dresser right next to the shell we'd picked up when we visited my mom last year.

Those two things, she'd told me, reminded her most of me.

And she'd left them behind.

I rubbed my stomach and turned back toward the bed, our bed where we'd spent many an hour exploring each other's wants and desires, filling the room with our passion, our sounds of lovemaking no doubt offending one neighbor or another but making us feel whole. A soft smile came to me then quickly vanished when my eye caught sight of something lying on my bedside table, something that truly told me everything was over.

I nearly missed the bed as my legs gave out. Lifting a shaking hand to gather it up, I remembered it had been an ordinary day when I'd given it to her that became something else. I'd gotten up the gumption to ask her to move in with me. The tears that filled her eyes spoke volumes and she'd whispered yes in my ear as I placed a necklace about her neck, a necklace with a bright blue butterfly at its center.

_That_ had been a good day that proved even better as it wore on, images and memories of promises and loving lasting within me for days. Now I sat on our bed feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under me. Hank scrambled up next to me to lean against my leg. He looked so sad, as sad as I felt and, all of a sudden, I wondered what I was doing.

Why was I letting her get away?

Why was I thinking this was the end?

Scrambling in my jacket, I pulled out my phone and then just stared at it. I knew, deep down, that I was fooling myself if I thought she'd answer, not after the way she'd left. But, maybe, maybe there was still a chance, slight though it may be that she might surprise me. I scrolled to her name and pressed send and listened to it ring. Then I quickly disconnected the call and took a few hundred deep breaths. I called again and repeated my actions.

"Damn it, Grissom."

Yelling at myself seemed to calm me slightly and I called again and again until I actually managed to leave a message. I waited and, when she didn't return my call after ten minutes, I left another, then another and so on until I couldn't see the buttons on the phone any longer. It didn't matter how many messages I left. She wasn't going to call back. I knew that. Somehow my loving her, my not wanting her to be killed had started the walls crumbling down. I shook my head at the absolute insanity of it all and slowly set down the phone on the side table, eyes drifting to the framed photo I keep there, my favorite photo of the two of us. Picking it up, I traced her face with my finger. She loved me then. I could tell by her eyes and that special smile she gave me. I hadn't seen that look or that smile when she'd walked out of my office and I knew I'd never see it again.

I admit to clutching her pillow to me and crying myself to sleep then calling in sick for my shift. I needed time to figure out what I was supposed to do next. Should I ask Brass to see if he could find her? Would Greg, Nick or Warrick tell me if she called? Should I simply accept the fact that, like the butterfly necklace, I'd been left behind and move on? But I couldn't move on, not after everything I'd found when I'd opened my heart. It brought a light into my house, into my life that was now a dimming remembrance. When you don't know about it it's awfully easy to just move through life, but once you've tasted happiness . . .

And so the days passed, each one longer than the one before. All I could do to make it through was to shutdown, cut myself off, become what I used to be – an emotionless workaholic scientist who found more joy in bugs than people. It was the only way I could function. By this time everyone knew Sara had quit and left no forwarding address. Brass was concerned and Catherine kept trying to get me to open up. I only received looks of contempt from Greg and Nick who didn't even bother to ask for my side of the story. Warrick kept near me with his quiet presence and Hodges, well, he was less irritating and seemed to understand more than I thought he would. Ecklie was pleased that his 'loose cannon' was gone and me . . . well, I hid. After awhile they left me alone. If they ever heard from Sara they never told me.

And then today happened.

Mind you I've never considered suicide before. Of course I've never been in such a dismal state and find it fascinating that I think this is the perfect opportunity to escape from the ache that permeates every bit of me; an ache that forces me to live with nothing but a few tokens of her and a dream of a life we could've had. This gun pointed in my face offers the ability to rest in the depths of darkness for all eternity without a care in the world and that seems like a nicer place to be right now then where I've been. Of course my plan centers on the man actually shooting me. I suppose I could grab the gun, yank it toward me to force his finger to automatically clench. In my current dreary mindset that seems like the way to go.

And with that dark thought time starts again and I blink.

I now feel the air-conditioning upon my face, watch as the sweat rolls off the man's forehead, feel my hands become fists at my side. Now is the time when it all will end – badly or not I can't tell nor do I much care.

I suppose I should be stronger.

Apparently I'm not.

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_1__ From the episode "Burden of Proof" – Sara decides to take a leave of absence because she needs to work in a place that gives her respect_

_2__ Holly Gribbs was introduced in the pilot episode, left alone at a scene, and killed_

_3__ Dorothy Gale/Tin Man – Wizard of Oz_

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_Well, there you have it - Part 1. I hope you liked it and will come back for more. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for your great reviews (and thank you Nancy1 for joining up so I can respond to all the nice things you have to say). This part is a little more back story before we get to the meat of things in Part 3. Hope you enjoy! I can't wait for a glimpse of Grissom tomorrow! Yeehaw!_

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**Part 2**

**Sara**

Fear.

Stomach roiling, vomit inducing fear. That's what's churning me up as I stand here in front of the Tidy Widy Grocery & Gas Station behind a line of police officers and flashing lights.

I always thought my worst day was when my mother killed my father. It shaped me and bled into my life as I grew older.

Then I thought that walking away from Gil took the prize - walking away and leaving the only true home I've ever known.

But now . . . now I know _this_ is the worst day of my life.

I can't help but fidget as I stare at the video feed seeing Gil standing there with a gun pointed at him. The footage is grainy but there's something about the way he stands that worries me. He looks tired, more so than normal, and he's not wearing a jacket. That sounds funny but he's always wearing something like his CSI vest or Forensics windbreaker. But right now all he's got on is a short sleeved shirt. It makes him seem more vulnerable somehow. I'd laugh but that would just make the officers stare at me. I'd laugh because it isn't the shirt that makes him vulnerable. It's me.

I did something so royally stupid that Gil Grissom my man had to become Gil Grissom my boss and do the only thing he could - suspend me. And he did the right thing but hindsight is twenty-twenty. Then . . . I was very myopic.

The problem, you see, is that I'd gotten so worked up about a case that I couldn't see what was right in front of me – Gil, the person I love and who loves me, scared out of his mind. All I saw was my boss yelling at me about rules and regulations and why did I even think I could go back to a scene without backup. Had I forgotten that, sometimes, the bad guy retraces his steps, goes back to the scene of the crime? Apparently so. In my fervor to find proof I forgot all my years of training, all my experience in the space of a swallow. I had my gun and know how to use it. I also had a warrant. That's all I needed.

Stupid, stupid fool!

I should never work these cases – a woman raped and beaten to death in her house – because they do something to me. They turn off the rational part of my brain and turn on the insanely illogical crazy person that's tucked inside, hidden from view. I see _nothing_ but the victim. I don't see the inherent danger of confronting the perp; I don't see how my actions could possibly set him free. All I see is that he's going to get away with it and the poor victim will never be avenged. I've been counseled about this; I've been yelled at by both Brass and Ecklie but, apparently, it doesn't sink into the dark recesses of my brain and take hold because I react this way every time. Gil keeps me off these cases but, this time, I was the only one available and I took off with it.

It is never my intent to hurt him. I've already suffered through enough of his rejections to know what it feels like, rejections that stemmed from fear. I understand that now. He has a lot to lose – his reputation, his job, his career – if things went south between us. But everything was going so well. He was basking in what we had and it made me smile knowing that I was the reason he was so happy, I was the reason he seemed to be enjoying life as I'd never seen him do.

And for me? It was like the sun had parted the clouds that I'd lived with forever. Everything felt lighter, easier to cope with because I knew he was there to offer kindness, a soft touch, a beautiful smile. Ah, that smile. Coupled with those sparkling blue eyes I can't get enough of, his smile makes me feel brighter somehow as if I haven't a care in the world. And when I look upon him each day as he sleeps next to me, his face relaxed and carefree, I find immense joy because I know he's all mine and no one else's.

I love that man. I always have and I always will.

But now I've done it. I ruined what we had because I couldn't see what was standing in front of me – someone worried about _me_; someone who cared about _my_ breathing in and out; someone who'd given _me_ their house key then asked if I would move in with him. My dream came true. Now it is no longer. I wrecked everything and don't think I'll be able to get it back. _I_ wouldn't take me back, not after all the things I said. I didn't mean any of it, especially now when I stand in front of what could be the last time I see him upright, and beg for more time to tell him how sorry I am; to tell him I love him always.

Please let me have more time.

As those words pass through my thoughts, it happens – my world begins to slow. I daren't move any part of me except my eyes to take in everything around me. I discover it isn't just me but everyone. The flashing of the police lights, Jim Brass' distinctive voice and the murmuring of the gathering crowd are all sliding to a stop. I feel as if I am hovering over something I can't see ready to be dropped into the dark.

This must be what it's like to have your life pass before your eyes an instant before it's over. And, apparently, that instant becomes a lifetime in and of itself to let you contemplate where you went wrong and what you might do to fix it. Would I have to go very far back to discover that which I needed to redo? No, because it all leads here. Without much effort the memory opens up before me in vivid color and exquisitely awful detail.

We hadn't seen much of each other in the week leading up to my leaving. Criminals came out of the woodwork and we were all pulling double and triple shifts. Gil had three bodies with bugs which kept him away from home and out to all hours. We hardly saw each other except as shadows on our way to somewhere else. It had happened before. This was no different.

But then Jeremy Roberts happened. Brutally raping and beating to death Ally Corrs, it had taken her hours to die, unable to call for help as she lay on her living room floor. I wanted that case. I wanted to be the one who caught him and flipped the switch. I was the only one there when the call came in and I ran with it. Roberts wasn't going to get away with it. I'd make sure of that.

Officer Metcalf and I made our way to Ally's house and I went through every room with a fine toothed comb finding nothing but circumstantial evidence, evidence that would allow us to question Roberts but nothing else. But it's all I had and, when he came in, well dressed with a nonchalant manner about him, I knew he'd killed Ally Corr. Now I had to prove it.

A satisfied smirk never left his face when Detective Vartann and I questioned him. He knew we didn't have anything. I knew he'd walk. We had to go back to Ally's house. There was something I missed, I was sure of it, but Nick and Warrick were off to a scene, Greg was stuck in the lab and all the cops were busy. And I couldn't let it go. Jaw clenched, disgust lining every part of my face, I decided to go it alone. The warrant was still valid. I had time to find something before everything went cold. I never thought of the danger. All I could focus on was nailing the bastard and the evidence had to be at her house.

And I found it! In fact, I found something else, something that implicated Roberts in another rape from a month before. Elated, I hurried back to the lab only to be confronted by both Nick and Warrick jumping on my ass about protocol. Before I could reply, someone grabbed my arm and pulled. Looking up I caught Gil's stern face out of the corner of my eye as I stumbled along with him until he practically threw me into his office and slammed the door behind him. Before I could tell him what I'd found, he spoke first.

"I'm taking you off this case."

I was stunned at the loud tone of his voice. I didn't notice the wide eyes and tense posture he was projecting, remembering it only later. All I saw was my supervisor pulling me off a case that would take down a possible serial rapist.

"You can't do that," I shouted back.

"Yes, I can," he curtly reminded me.

"Why?"

An incredulous look crossed his face. "Sara, you went to a scene without back up. You could've been killed."

I moved my arms across my chest. "I'm fine. Nothing happened."

"And I thank God for that," he said. "But I will not stand by and watch you put yourself in harm's way just to prove Roberts guilty."

"I was doing my job," I reminded him my anger starting to get the better of me. "We missed something at her house. I had to find it and I did. He's guilty."

"Right now I don't care if he's guilty. What I care about is why you didn't wait for back up."

"I had a warrant."

"Sara, a warrant won't keep you from getting killed!" he shouted. "Jeremy Roberts managed to get himself released less than an hour after you left. He could've returned to the scene. You would've been there alone. If he's as guilty as you say he is that could've been the end of you. You're not a policeman, Sara. You're a CSI. We _wait_ for back up. We wait until a scene has been cleared. I won't have another Holly Gribbs on my conscience."

I could feel my brow rising up my forehead. "Is that all you care about? Your conscience?" came my question, a question without any thought behind it. I saw him flinch.

"W-What?"

"Holly Gribbs was a blot on Graveyard's record," I continued. "Worried that you'll lose your precious standing in the CSI community if you should lose another one?"

I glared at him. All I could see was an obstacle in getting Roberts. He was a rapist and now a murderer and my evidence needed to be logged so he wouldn't get off Scot free because he had a good lawyer. How dare Gil keep me from bringing him to justice and giving the Corrs family closure.

I'd hurt him. I could see it in his eyes but I didn't care. This case was mine. "I'm _not_ off this case, Grissom," I belligerently informed him.

"Yes, you are."

"How can you do this to me?"

"Because I don't want you killed!" He slammed a hand down on the desk and that should've stopped me but I couldn't let it go.

"I can't believe you don't care. He raped and murdered a young woman. In her home, Grissom. In her home!"

"I'm fully aware of what occurred, Sara."

"Do you care?"

"Of course I care!" he said with a bit of anger in his tone.

"Well, you sure don't show it."

"Just because I don't go off half cocked doesn't mean I don't feel everything that's going on. I thought you knew that." I did know that. I don't know why I said something like that. "Your emotions will be the end of you, Sara. If they don't get you fired they'll get you killed."

"Then I lose my job but at least there's one more murderer off the streets," I countered. "But you know what I don't want to lose? My emotions because I don't ever want to become an emotionless stick like you," I said seeing him wince. I pushed on. "Emotions make me feel alive and, with a job like this, I need to feel alive or I'd be just as dead as those bodies we spend every waking moment with."

"I can't protect you from Ecklie forever, Sara. When he finds out about this there'll be hell to pay."

Both brows rose up my forehead. "So who are you protecting now? You or me?" I sarcastically said. He gave me an incredulous look and I let lose. "I don't need a man to take care of me. I've never needed a man for that because I've been taking care of myself since I was a teenager. And I sure as hell don't need someone who's more interested in his own ass then mine."

There was pure shock affixed to his face at that statement. "How can you say that, Sara? How can you believe . . ." He faltered for a moment.

"You don't respect me, Grissom, you don't or you'd let me do my job without second guessing me all the time."

"I never second guess your work just how you go about it. And this is a very apt circumstance from which to judge. Your job is to gather evidence not get yourself killed. Why can't you see that?"

I shook my head and snorted at him. Respect me? He didn't. Never did.

"You could've been killed, Sara," came next, his soft voice drawing my attention back to him to see glistening eyes staring at me. "You're . . . you're more important to me than anything. I couldn't stand the thought of . . ." He cleared his throat. "I love you, Sara. I always have. I can't lose you that way."

My heart skipped a bit. Those words should've meant everything to me, always meant everything to me each time he gave them to me. But now I simply saw it as a bandaid sloppily applied and it made me angry. I felt like he was betraying me, siding with Ecklie and the Sheriff, buckling under politics he never liked to play.

Juvenile.

I held his tormented gaze. "You love me," I stated then barked out a short laugh. God, I laughed.

He tilted his head back, a painful look on his face. "Yes, Sara, I do. Since the first moment I saw you."

His voice had a bare quality about it and I pursed my lips. I wasn't going to fall for that. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I shook my head.

"I can't let myself love you anymore not when you don't respect me. It hurts too much," came out of me. I watched as he tried to say something, anything but was stuck much like he always is when this part of me that I hate rears its ugly head. And that pissed me off even more.

I wanted him to yell at me again, be angry, tell me to stop being a child but, instead, he told me again that he loved me. It should've been enough because I know he loves me; deep down past this crazy Sara I know. But I was too far gone at that point.

"I don't. Not anymore." As if that wasn't enough I said more. "Oh, and one more thing. I quit. I quit everything."

And that was it.

I tossed the evidence I'd gathered onto his desk and walked out without a second glance, got in my car and headed to Gil's place to pack a few things and leave behind others, slipping the key that had meant everything to me under the door. I got back in my car and didn't stop until I couldn't drive any further, dragging myself inside some nondescript motel to flop down on the bed and cry my eyes out. In between bawling like a baby I railed against all the things against me, all the roadblocks that kept me from getting what I wanted, what I knew I should have. Throwing things felt good for awhile but didn't change a thing. Yelling out my frustrations into my pillow didn't help either except give me a sore throat.

All my life I'd had to fight for everything – large and small – not only to get it but to keep it. My self-respect managed to survive mostly intact even though I always seemed to be looking for it in others to validate my reason for being on this earth. I'd made my way without help from the outside relying instead on my smarts, not on my personality.

And then I'd met Gil and was smitten.

All my brave words of self-reliance and strength fizzled out when I heard him speak, when I listened to his honeyed voice filling the room with his knowledge and I was lost in those blue, blue eyes. He's all I wanted from then on. Gil Grissom – good looking, smart with a dazzling smile that made me shiver, and interested in me of all people. Sure, it had taken a number of years to break through his reasons for keeping me at arm's length but I'd broken through and I had him. I had him. And now . . . now I didn't.

My anger had always been an issue, taking me over at the most inopportune times. I had to be tough going through foster care. Changing households as often as I did inured me to the idea that one day I'd find a home. But then I did – with Gil – and then I'd left it. He'd always worried I'd up and leave one day. I often tried to convince him that that was never going to happen and now I'd proven to him that he was right. And all I wanted was for him to hold me, right then. Hold me and tell me we were okay; that I'd dreamt it all.

But then I'd looked up from my soaked pillow and took in the messy room, the shut curtains, the single towel draped over the sink and thought I couldn't be in a worse place. I was miles from home, miles from him and the warmth of our bed, miles from the gentleness of his touch. I didn't even know how long I'd been there while I ruminated on my poor downtrodden life. All I knew was that I needed to get back to him. But how? I couldn't just show up on his doorstep and say 'hi, I'm back' and he'd fall into my arms and all would be forgiven. No, I'd broken too many things when I left, things that were, possibly, fractured beyond repair. But I've never given up easily. Look how long it took me to get him. I couldn't even begin to imagine that I couldn't get him back no matter what I did.

So I cleaned my face, blew my nose and started with my phone that had been off ever since I left. Turning it on inundated me with call after call, text after text. Nick, Greg, Warrick, even Brass left various messages demanding to know what happened, where I was, when or if I was coming back. They'd been calm and harsh, worried and sad and I couldn't respond to any of them especially after listening to the twenty messages from Gil. They'd all arrived that first night and none since, each one filled with how much that man loves me, desperately wanting to know where I was, that he was sorry, that he just wanted to protect me, to the last one . . . the last one in a voice so hushed I could barely hear it.

"_I'll always love you."_

There were no more. None were needed after that.

I'd tromped on his heart with my leaving, sliced it into pieces with my vicious remarks and finally quashed it with my own penetrating silence. What had I done? What had I done to the man who'd given me everything I needed and more? I'd ruined the best thing in my life. I had to salvage it.

Stuffing everything in my car, I raced back to Vegas. Nothing mattered now but getting to him, mending what I'd broken as fast as I could, hoping he would take me back. But there had been too much silence from me to expect him to talk and I couldn't blame him. God, what a mess I'd created for myself. I'd broken a trust, his trust, something it took me years to earn, something he'd held tightly to himself then gave to me for safekeeping. And I'd let it go as if it meant nothing.

The road became blurred and I had to pull over, leaning my head against the steering wheel, knowing I had no one to blame but myself for my current state. It's such an awful realization that _you_ are the reason you feel so empty and it was a bigger empty now that the only man I loved was gone.

"I'm so sorry, Gil," I wept wondering if I should turn around and leave him be. But the ringing of my phone made me jump and I had to take a moment to catch my breath. Whipping it out of my pocket, hoping to see Gil's name on the screen, I frowned when 'Brass' appeared instead. I took a deep breath and flipped it open. "Sidle."

"I need you here now," was all he said. My heart tripled its speed.

"What's wrong?"

"Grissom's in trouble. Meet me at Ford and 34th ASAP!"

With that the line went dead, leaving me to stare at the screen for a full minute before I tossed the phone into the passenger seat and floored it. Gil was in trouble. Jesus! He was in trouble and I've been sulking like a two year old.

"If anything happens to him . . ."

Breaking all speed limits, I screeched to a halt 15 minutes later at Ford and 34th. Leaping out of my car, I stopped dead at the sight before me. Six police cars were stationed around the perimeter of the Tidy Widy Grocery & Gas Station and Brass's distinctive voice was coming from the attendant's station in front of me. I made a beeline for him flashing my badge as I went. He didn't see me as I hovered behind, my eyes locked on the same thing his were – that video feed from inside the store where my man stood with a gun pointed at his head.

My stomach is in knots and I swallow quickly to keep from puking. This isn't right. He should be at work. He should have his jacket on. I should be with him.

I won't let it end like this!

In the space of a blink, sound explodes back into being and slams into me like a freight train. I gasp and take a step back. That must be what catches Brass' attention because he turns, grabs my arm then walks me away from the feed and into the night air.

"Sara . . ." he begins but I cut him off.

"Tell me," I say as I stop.

Brass frowns. I know he'll tell me. He sighs.

"All I know is that the man with the gun came into the store, started yelling at a customer then shot him three times. At some point Gil came in and, about a minute later, the cashier pushed the red alert button and took off."

"He left Gil in there?"

Brass nods and holds my arm tightly in case I take it upon myself to find said cashier and beat his head in. I look up noting an odd cast about his face.

"What?" I ask.

Slowly, he shakes his head. "Gil had plenty of time to escape but he let the man find him. I know he's not been himself lately," he says giving me a knowing look, "but he knows better than to stick around when someone's waving a gun in the air."

A deep terror cuts through me. He's not been himself lately.

I shrug out of Brass' grip and head back to the feed without saying a word. My eyes center on Gil standing motionless before the gunman and I know, like I know Jeremy Roberts is guilty, that my man is going to do something foolish because of what I said, because he thinks I don't love him.

Please, I need to tell him I love him. He needs to know.

"Captain," comes to us both as Brass walks up next to me. We watch the gunman shift from foot to foot, his mouth opening to speak.

_ "Ain't ya gonna try and talk me outta this?"_ comes out of the tiny speaker to fill the booth.

I can't help but gasp again when I see Gil shake his head no.

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_Well, there's Part 2. I hope you enjoyed it enough to stick around for Part 3 since all the backstory is done and now we plow on into more treacherous territory - angst and drama and lots of tears. I just love this stuff! Happy day. Please review._


	3. Chapter 3

_Welcome back! I had planned on posting this on Saturday but then I squished mom's fingers in the car door and we had to hot foot it out to the ER where we spent some amount of time which then threw off my reworking schedule (along with the nap I just had to take) thus putting me behind. So here, on Super Bowl Sunday, is Part 3. It's shorter than I wanted but I it covers what I intended. I hope you concur._

_Onward ~  
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**Part 3**

**Grissom**

"Ain't ya gonna try and talk me outta this?"

Startled out of my thoughts I take a quick breath. His voice is as shaky as his hand and I know I'm supposed to make him see that what he's about to do will only shorten not only my life but his as well. But I remain quiet as he looks at me then shake my head. He's puzzled by my response. I can tell from the odd look on his sweaty face.

"Why not?" he asks, the tone he uses one of shock.

Tilting my head to the side, I wonder if I've really gone off the deep end as the next words escape me. "I see no reason to."

His mouth drops open slightly and he frowns. "But I'm aiming a gun at ya. I've already killed someone and ya saw me. I have to kill ya."

I shrug. "Go ahead. You'd be doing me a favor."

The man's frown grows larger. Apparently I've confused him. That wasn't what I expected. He just killed a man without a second thought. I saw him standing over the body when I came in, not a single bit of remorse on his face. I'm a willing target. So what's his problem?

You have a gun. Use it!

I'm resolved to my fate!

Do me a favor and shoot my brains out so I don't have to be reminded what a fuck up I am every time I look in a mirror!

"Are ya sure?" he asks, his brow furrowing.

I can't help it. I laugh. This all seems rather ridiculous.

Collecting myself, I nod. "Yes. Kill me, please, so I don't have to do it myself and rob my beneficiary of my 'death in the line of duty' benefits." I actually tense up when his other hand whips up to grasp the one holding the gun then realize my verbal error as his next statement.

"Geez, yer a cop!" he shouts, glancing from side to side as if my imaginary back up will pop out of the side doors and grab him.

It's then I wonder if I'm as committed to dying as I thought when it feels as if someone just cut off my air, and I raise my palms in a purely defensive gesture. "I work with the police but I'm not a cop," I explain.

Why do I care if he thinks I'm a cop? I should let him believe what he wants?

"Not a cop?"

I shake my head. "No."

"What do you do?"

I lower my hands and purse my lips at that question. "I'm a crime scene investigator."

"A what?"

"I find the answers as to why a person died and, ultimately, who did it."

"Oh," he replies as if it was important he know that before he takes a half step back, pulling a hand from the gun to run it across his brow before giving me a half smile. "I guess they won't be needing you tonight."

He gestures over my shoulder and I give him a slight shake of my head. "I guess not."

He nods then glances down at my left hand and cocks his head. "So, um, ya won't be leaving a wife or family or something behind if . . . if I kill ya right?"

Wife. I always thought Sara would be my wife, always wanted that from the first moment even though I didn't really know it until much later. What a nice dream that was.

I sigh. "I had hoped that someday she would be but no longer."

"Did she – did she die?"

Tears rake against my eyes and I squint at him to keep them from falling. She could've died. Roberts could've been waiting for her at Ally Corrs house and taken from me the one thing I hold dear. I see it every night when I close my eyes. I see all the blood, all the gore and my beloved lying right in the middle of it all. I drop my head to hide my trembling chin and shake my head.

"No," I manage. "She didn't die." I look up then and repeat it in a stronger voice. "She didn't die. She had to leave." That sounds much better than she quit everything, including me.

The man gives me a knowing look. "I'm sorry," he says and I believe he really means it. "I had a wife," he adds wistfully drawing out my damned curiosity.

"Had?"

Such anguish fills his face. So much so that it makes what I'm feeling as nothing more than a bout of heartburn and I know what's coming.

"She was killed by a drunk driver," he says, his voice wavering. "She'd gone to the store. Decided to walk instead of drive. She was always trying to lose some weight," he says with a ghost of a smile. "She didn't need to. She was just right as far as I was concerned."

"How long were you married?" I ask.

"Two years, five months and 27 days," he grins. "She always teased me about keeping track like that. I did it because it reminded me of what I had and how long I had it. I figured I'd never stop counting until we both closed our eyes for the last time." His smile fades and he wipes at his nose. "Now I count the days she's been gone. I'm up to 53. 53 days of wandering around the house trying to decide if I should eat or go to work or drink myself into a coffin. I'm back to how I used to feel before I met her."

I look closely at him. I can feel his pain, literally, because it's my pain, too. I don't know what to do with myself half the time. It used to be I could sit for hours studying a butterfly or a spider making its web. Now, now I feel . . .

"Drifting," comes from him. "I do nothing but drift."

Drifting. Yes, that's what I've been doing. Drifting from one day to the next without any thought to anything other than when will it stop hurting, when will I sleep through the night without dreaming about her . . . and when will it all end.

He's quiet and I can't stop myself. "And then what happened?" I ask.

The anguish in his eyes is swiftly replaced by steel and he stands a bit straighter. "I did something about it," he answers jutting his chin out, pointing the gun over my shoulder. "There, behind you. That's why yer services won't be needed tonight."

I can't help but turn toward the crumpled body against the chip stand, his head resting in a pool of his own blood, broken bottles of beer laying about him.

"I killed him. I killed the bastard that took my life from me," he explains as I turn back noticing his eyes are fixed on the fallen man. Then they slip away and the steel disappears. "I had my revenge but it didn't make any difference. She still ain't coming home; she ain't holding me, loving me. I'm still alone."

I close my eyes.

He and I are the same – pining away for a lost love, a love that won't ever be. But then I realize there _is_ a difference. He took action. He killed the man who took his woman from him whereas I let Sara walk away.

Coward.

"You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din4," I whisper drawing an odd look from him. I sigh again. "I'm sorry for your loss."

I truly was. I now know there isn't anything worse than losing the one you love and I love Sara enough to kill for her. That should shock me but it doesn't. It does make me sad though because she'll never know. She'll never know because I'm sure I'll never hear from her again.

He looks at me like he knows what I'm thinking then nods. There seems to be an understanding between the two of us lonely men. We each had a great love and now we are both alone. My nightmares, bloody though they may be, don't even begin to compare to what this man must be experiencing. I know Sara is alive. I think I would feel it if she wasn't. This man, this poor man won't see his woman until he closes his eyes forever and that could be a very long time.

He's already been through so much. I can't ask him to end my misery when he's already encased in so much of his own.

"She was like sunshine."

His voice filters into my straying thoughts and I focus on his face to see tears sliding off his lashes. He's no longer looking at me but at something else. I can only guess that it's the woman he loves since the smile he's sporting isn't meant for me.

"She was the reason behind everything I did, everything I became. I was a better man because of her and now . . . now . . ." He falters, swallows heavily, bows his head for a moment then looks at me with a smile. "Maybe I'll see her now," is all he says as he does something I'll never forget.

It's as if time is slowing again and my eyes grow wide at the sight before me. My mouth opens and my hand darts out as he pulls the gun from my direction and places it at his temple. I shout and my voice mixes in with the echoing sound of the gun discharging, the reverberating ripples bouncing all about my ears and head like marbles in a tin can. I shy away as blood spatters against me and take a step back but can't keep my eyes from the slow drop of the man as he lands with a thud at my feet. Empty eyes in a blank face staring out at nothing as blood streams from the new hole in his head, transfixes me. I find I envy him the peace he's now found and wish him luck in finding the woman he loves.

And then I notice my outstretched hand is trembling – a delayed reaction I'm sure to all that's happened now that the threat is gone. I pull it back and stare at the blood covering it thinking that could be my blood; the body on the floor could be me. It's what I thought I wanted but now that I'm faced with it, I'm not to sure about that. I wince as the whoosh that is my hearing begins to tunnel and along with that odd noise comes something that sounds vaguely like a voice. My thoughts are far to scattered to really know who's voice but it's probably Ecklie. No doubt he heard what I said to the gunman and will put me on administrative leave for exhaustion or some such nonsense. Or, as he might tactfully put it, insanity. Then I'll have to see a shrink and discuss my reasons for asking a gunman to shoot me.

I can hear my excuses already. I was attempting to confuse him into giving up his gun or I thought I could get him to turn himself in. Naw, those'll only get me a medal or something which I won't accept. I should go for the truth - I was really trying to kill myself. That'll just get me a stay in Shady Acres. Christ, I can't even die on my own terms. There will be no great joy in Mudville5 tonight.

An oomph escapes me as I hit the floor bracing myself against the candy display. I run a hand across my brow then pull my knees up to keep upright, draping my arms about them. I bow my head and try to figure out what's wrong with me. I wasn't shot. I'm still breathing, too quick for my own good but breathing, and I can't seem to concentrate. Maybe I am dying. Maybe he did hit me.

I wonder if Sara would even care if I died.

That thought flits through and takes some of my precious breath. What an untidy muddle of chaos my life has become. First I want the man to kill me then I don't, then he kills himself . . . himself! I can't even get someone to kill me let alone love me. I should never have opened the door to my heart. All of this would've belonged to someone else's life and I could go on blithely unaware. Bugs. I need to stick to bugs because they are predictable and that's what I need. Me and the bugs. Alone.

Alone.

But I don't want to be alone. Not anymore.

Something splats on the floor and I open my eyes. I'm crying. I've been doing that a lot lately, along with not eating or sleeping. And then my hand moves to my mouth since the urge to puke becomes paramount and I don't want to contaminate the scene. A garbled chuckle finds me. CSI to the end. Then a new sound pushes through the thrumming noise that now occupies the space I'm in. It's that voice again. And it's calling my name.

Gil.

My breath catches. It's her. My life, my soul.

Sara.

My heart, left in our bedroom as I held her butterfly necklace, reminds me it still resides in my chest as it starts thumping. God, why now? Why is she here now, now when I can't protect myself against her? I can't show her how jumbled my life has become without her. I need to be strong. I need to show her that . . .

I drop my heavy head into my hands as my tremble worsens. I can't show her anything other than what is – she destroyed me when she walked away. And I didn't go after her, not any further than her apartment. It doesn't matter that I didn't know where she was, it's that I didn't try to find out. I folded up into myself and acted like it never happened. It took everything I had to keep moving through a day. She'll see all of that once she looks me in the face. I can't hide much from her. Not since I let her in.

I can't lift my head. I won't. If only I could wish myself away into the dark. It's safe there, in the dark. Safer than any other place I can imagine.

**Sara**

A strangled 'no' escapes me at the sound of the single gunshot and I'm frozen, staring at the video feed. I can see Gil standing there, arm outstretched and relief floods me. But when he drops to the floor . . . when he drops to the floor I'm out of that booth so fast that no one can catch me including Brass who yells after me as I see cops converging on all sides. But they won't catch me. They won't stop me from getting to Gil.

I slam through the door first not caring about evidence or if the gunman is dead or if soon I'll feel the impact of a bullet. I care only for the man who sits with his head in his hands on the cold linoleum floor, inches from a blood pool that appears to be reaching out to him. I slide to a stop and call his name. I so want to rush to his side, want to erase all that's happened but all I know, all I can hear is his voice playing over and over in my head.

"_Kill me, please, so I don't have to do it myself and rob my beneficiary of my 'death in the line of duty' benefits."_

I'm his beneficiary. I'm the one he wanted on that form; the one he intended on leaving everything because I _was_ his everything. Jesus! I brought him to this. I made him doubt all that we'd shared; made him want to end this because of what I took from him – stable ground from which to explore now full of cracks and dust. So much power I had to cripple him.

So much power.

I ran away like a child, drowning in my own mixed up idea that he wasn't there for me like I thought he should be. And yet he's always been there, always . . . when I let him that is. I never meant to . . . Yes, yes I did. I wanted him to know what it was like to be left behind. I wanted him to know how much it hurt. I just never imagined, never thought of the damage it would bring since I was only thinking of _my_ hurt, _my_ anger. But looking at him now, looking at what I caused . . .

I close my eyes. I need to focus on what's in front of me. I'm not running any longer. I'm not going to hide behind my past or present. Gil's the only one who ever cared enough to reach out, to protect, to help me, to make sure I feel safe. If my self-imposed exile did nothing else it proved to me that I _do_ need him. I need him to keep me sane and plan on telling him that bit of wisdom I now own. He has to know that I'm running _to_ him now, to hold him, to tell him how much I love him and to apologize for leaving in the first place. So here's my chance to be the one to reach out but I don't know how to start. What do you say to someone after you left them in your furious wake? Hey, how's it going? Miss me?

I glance at the dead man then up to the cops securing the scene, finally settling on Brass who's standing quietly to the side. He gives me a faint smile then turns away as his phone rings. It's up to me now. I started this. I had to put it right.

I kneel next to him. He doesn't move and I falter for a half second. God, I want to touch him! But I don't, won't until he says it's okay. This means everything. Everything. I lean in close.

"Gil?" I quietly say.

He flinches and it sends an ache arcing through me as I remember the last time I spoke to him, the last words I said. I attempt to calm my racing heart and keep my eyes locked firmly on the side of his face, desperately wanting to see those blue eyes looking at me with more than the sorrow I put there.

"Baby, I'm here," I try again, "and I'm not going anywhere ever again."

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_4 __This quote is from the 1892 poem "Gunga Din" by Rudyard Kipling_

_5__ Casey at Bat – a baseball poem written in 1888 by Ernest Thayer_

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_Now they're together. What next? I hope you enjoyed this. Part 4 should be up by Wednesday unless, of course, I squish something else of mom's. Please review and thanks for reading._


	4. Chapter 4

_One of the great joys I get from writing / posting my stories and reading your reviews is that I can put aside the day's happenings like when you're taken to task over something at work and are left feeling like a warmed over piece of doo. True, part of it was my fault but still it's not a good way to end a day. So, I came home and read an awesome review which brightened me up immensely. So thank you for that, Nancy1. I would also like to thank Moonstarer, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, Rocket Scientist 2, Misanthropee and everyone else for taking the time to review. You've all given me ideas.  
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_Onward we go ~_

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**Part 4**

**Grissom**

That voice, that appealing mix of silky softness that always calms me no matter what is happening is back and whispering in my ear. I've dreamt of hearing it again every second of every day since she left. I expect my muscles to relax, my stomach to uncoil but it doesn't provoke that response. I cringe instead of smile. My insides shrink in on themselves even further and I feel a fiery anger rise to the fore at that particular endearment falling from her lips.

Baby.

What right does she have to call me that? How dare she remind me of the special feeling that word gives me every time she says it. I don't care that she's unaware of what it does to me. She gave up that right the moment she left.

I rub my forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache and try to quell my anger but that's a mistake since in its place comes memories of the first time she called me that. It fell from her mouth absentmindedly, much as when I called her honey after the lab exploded6. Whereas I don't think she was aware of my slip of the tongue, I heard hers and it made me forget that I was bleeding all over the place from a ripped up fingernail. She was so considerate that day when she marched me into the breakroom and proceeded to explain exactly what she was doing and how much it was going to hurt. And it did but there was a giddiness running through me when I discovered that here was someone who was concerned about whether I hurt or not. Oh, Catherine would've helped but it wasn't the same. I don't have lascivious thoughts about her. Never have.

Internally I shake myself back to reality. This isn't helping. I can't let myself fall into those used to be's. I have to be strong and fight the urge to take her into my arms no matter how difficult it may be. I won't let my want claim me when I know where she stands; how she doesn't really want to be here.

"Gil?" comes at me again. "Gil, please . . ."

God, I hear her moving and know she's reaching out for me. If she touches me . . . If she touches me I'm done. I have to stop her.

"Don't," is all I come up with as I lean ever so slightly away from her.

I haven't opened my eyes but don't need to to know she's backing away for the hairs on my arm that rose at her nearness are once again taking up residence against my skin. I fully expect to hear the sound of her running feet moving toward the door but there's only her breathing, a sound that can both sooth me to sleep or excite me beyond measure. And it's all there for the taking.

I won't fool myself into thinking that she's here to stay. Yes, she was angry. Yes, she misinterpreted my concern. If that had been all of it I might see clear to understand. But when she looked at me that last moment before she left my office; when that look told me more than her words ever could . . . I don't have her love anymore. It wasn't in her eyes. I never thought it could die so fast in someone who'd seemed so pleased when I'd asked her to live with me but then I'm not up to speed on these kinds of things. All I really know is that I'm miserable.

But, at some point, I'll have to man up, as Warrick would say, and face her - face the woman who held my heart, who still has my heart. It might as well be now. So I take a page from the gunman's book and steel myself for what's to come. I must be a stone wall if I'm to make it through the next few moments without falling into her arms and begging her to come back then finding my world growing darker still when she pushes me away once again.

Slowly, I raise my head and open my eyes, hesitantly turning her way. As always happens my breath hitches slightly at the sight. Her soft curly hair rings a pale face; her bottom lip is caught between her teeth and her eyes are glistening, those eyes that have captivated me for so long. I see a sadness there and know she's about to tell me something I don't want to hear; she's about to explain her reasons for ripping out my soul. Losing my nerve, I look away. It's bad enough I have to hear it. I don't want to see it, too.

And then she moves and is next to me again, her hot breath on my cheek, and I can do nothing but shut my eyes tighter than before as she begins to speak.

"I'm so sorry, Gil, for what I said," she tells me soft and quiet so only I can hear. "I was angry and I took it out on you. I've always loved you and always will no matter what stupid thing I might say or do. If you hear nothing else, please hear that."

My pounding heart stops, the air about me disappears and I shudder. My anger rises again. How can she do this to me? How can she waltz back in and say these things to me? She hurt me with her indifference, something I never expected coming from her of all people not after all the time we've spent together, all the things we've shared, I've shared. I opened up to her and gave her my all. I suppose I should've held back something to cushion me when she left but I couldn't and be truly happy.

_ "She was like sunshine."_

That startles me as those words race through my head and my eyes pop open. Sara was like my very own bit of sunshine.

"Gil?"

I cringe and drop my head back into my hand. Grissom's are made of stern stuff, my father used to say. Well, sorry, Dad, but I think my stuff has been used up.

"No, no you don't," I whisper to her, trying to keep the quiver from my voice and failing. "You made it very clear when you left. You don't love me anymore."

**Sara**

I fight against my stomach which is rapidly rising toward my throat. He's right. When I said I quit everything, I meant it. At the time.

But I did everything all wrong. I should've waited for him outside the lab and had it out. I should've answered any of his 20 calls. I should've called him to explain why I was so upset. But my silence compounded everything into what I am looking at now – a good man, covered in blood not his own, trying desperately not to look at me for fear I'll crush him even more.

Words. It all started with words that weren't heard; actions that were misinterpreted; my own pigheadedness that'll be the end of me one day. How do I tell him that the love I've always felt for him is still there? How can I ask him to forget that day? _I_ can't forget that day. It will always stay in the ether, forever floating out of reach to rear its ugly head at any given time. I did that. I did. No one else but me.

I fought so long against Gil's insecurity over us. It was our ages, then our work but seemed to come to a head around his hearing. It wasn't until later I found that the day I'd asked him out was the day he'd made a decision about following through with surgery7. He'd taken that step, he told me, because if he ever got over his inability to commit to me, he didn't want me saddled with a deaf man. Whether he could hear or not wasn't important to who he was as a man, to how I thought of him. He'd made his own way, earned every bit of respect he has, and was willing to pass along his knowledge to teach others along the way. Deaf or not wouldn't have changed that.

And when we came together, it was pure bliss. He is a gentle lover, more interested in how I feel than himself. I'd never experienced that before, never wanted to leave it behind, but found myself walking out the door over a rapist/murderer that got into my head. I never turned back when I left his office. I didn't have to because I knew what I'd left there. And now I was seeing it up close. What sits here on the floor is my responsibility - a strong man reduced to someone now exposed for all to see.

I can't let it continue. I have to get through the new walls he's imposed and tell him again how much I love him; make sure he hears me even if they are my last words to him. So I lean back in until my lips barely touch his ear.

"There isn't an anymore for me, Gil. There is only forever when it comes to you. I love you. I always have, I always will."

He sucks in a breath and I wonder if he's heard me.

I wonder if he ever will again.

**Grissom**

Those words . . . those words ricochet through me and stab at my heart because they are my words. I said them to her when I asked her to come warm my house with her presence.

_There is only forever when it comes to you._

And I meant it. There _is_ only forever when it comes to Sara. She's it for me. We fit so well. We are both socially inept; we love to immerse ourselves in research; we commit fully to finding the answers whether it's a case or a crossword clue. And yet, we keep getting caught up in double meanings and hidden reasons behind everything. I guess that's my fault for taking so long to give her what she wanted – to give her my trust. But I had my reasons, old reasons that still resided front and center in my memory until I let them go. Once I claimed Sara for myself that all went away and I reveled in the feeling it brought. I no longer had to be alone. I no longer had to keep my hands to myself when she's around. I had someone, other than my mother, who loved me and that was pure heaven.

And now, now I sit on a cold floor in front of a dead body with another behind me, desperate to find a place to hide. And Sara, my Sara sits here telling me that I need to forget what she told me; forget that I've been walking in a fog since she left; that those horrible things she flung at me meant nothing. _I can't let myself love you anymore. _How can I erase their resonance? They will always haunt us. They will always be a part of our history. It all matters so damn much, all of it. How I wish I could forget and know I won't.

Again I wait for her to leave when I don't, can't respond, but she stays near. In fact she takes hold of my arm adding a shiver to the tremor already consuming me. I try to pull away but haven't the strength.

"You're cold," she says and her hands run gently up and down my arm.

I didn't feel the cold when I stood here in my shirt sleeves facing off an armed man, but now I feel every bit of those tendrils of chill as they work their way through my skin, her warm hands doing their damnedest to fight them off. I sink into her touch before remembering I don't want her touching me. I don't want to be reminded of the feel of her hands so I shrink back but it does no good – her hand stays attached and moves with me.

"Baby, talk to me," she begs. "Please don't let my selfishness ruin everything."

How do I . . . How can I know she really means it? I want to believe her. I do. I _need_ to believe her but how?

Damnit, I hate this! Why can't everything be like it was? I just want to open my eyes onto her sweet face looking at me like she used to, filling me with a promise of more to come.

"Talk to me," she pleads. "Please."

It's as if invisible strings are pulling at me and I can't help but turn my face toward her, dreading the sympathetic look I'm sure I'll see as I defy my own will to keep my eyes closed. Reluctantly I blink . . . then again and rub my eyes because the expected sight isn't there. I see fear, yes, but no pity like I thought I would. And there's something else, too, something that sends a spark of shock through me. I squint to make sure this isn't all some sort of joke my tired mind is conjuring up to mess with me and find the shock growing.

It's there - that look I used to see every time our eyes met and now only have in a photo by my bed. It's there and directed at me. My mouth goes dry. I can't swallow. I can't think. I have no words that make it past this one belief.

I never thought I'd see it again.

**Sara**

He looks . . . confused then stunned.

Please, Gil, say something. Yell, scream, throw something! Tell me that you hate me and never want to see me again! I'm so scared I can't do anything about this. Say something!

But silent he remains. His mouth opens a bit then closes just before he turns from me again. I can't sit here silent. I need to say something if he won't. It's my last chance to make things right. I have to run with this.

"You were trying to protect me," I begin, attempting to keep my voice pitched low so only he can hear me. "You were right to suspend me. You should've fired me. I only saw what I wanted, what I needed. I wasn't thinking of what it would've done to you if I'd been killed. I didn't know what I was doing or saying until too many days had passed and then . . . well, then I didn't have the guts to call you and apologize and beg you to take me back."

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. I can't lose my momentum. He has to hear me. I scoot even closer.

"If I learned nothing from what I did I learned everything I said was a lie." I see him wince but continue. "It's true that I've been taking care of myself since I was a teen but it's never been something I wanted. It was what I had to do. I never needed anyone because I thought it would make me weak and I could never be that. I could never let anyone know how scared I was because that's when they took advantage. But you, you never did, Gil. You were always there, always ready to face my demons right along with me and that's meant the world to me.

"And when you came to me after we dug Nick out of the ground8, _you_ needed me. I'd never been needed before and it made me feel important. Taking care of you and getting you through that night meant the world to me. It made me love you even more."

Angrily I swipe at my cheeks. I don't want to cry. He doesn't need that right now so I force myself to stare at his hands holding his head, those hands I love moving across my skin.

My resolve will not break.

"I can't stand being without you. I can't stand the thought of never holding you, touching you, loving you. I never realized how much I could miss someone until you weren't there to keep me warm, to provide a shelter from my nightmares, from my memories, to listen to me and keep me safe, to cry for me if I should die. You don't know how important it is to have someone care if you die."

He fidgets slightly and I lean in closer.

"When I stood out there and watched that man holding a gun to your head, when I heard what you said to him, it nearly killed me because I was at fault. All I prayed for, all I wished was for you to walk out of here alive." I grab his arm and hold on tight. "I love you so much, Gil, and I'm so, so sorry for putting you through hell. Please, please take me back. Please love me again. I need you. I need you more than I've ever needed anyone in my life and I'm lost without you."

I'm begging and I'll continue to beg for as long as it takes him to at least listen to me again. But he doesn't move, doesn't respond. I don't blame him. I will never blame him.

"I-I understand if you can't forgive me," I continue, my voice wavering. "I don't like it but I understand. You gave me something precious. You gave me your trust and, along with that, your heart and I broke both those things, something I vowed never to do. I . . . hurt you. I never . . . I'm sorry, Gil. Please know that I'm sorry."

I'm such a fool and he's paid the price for my insensitivity and I don't know if . . . I _know _he won't be able to forgive me. I'll have to leave Vegas. It's not home anymore. _He_ was my home. I'll have to live with what I've done until I close my eyes forever.

Damn, I'm crying. I wasn't going to do that, at least, not where he can see.

A different sound disrupts my inner rant and I quickly raise my head, my own torment pushed aside at the sight of my man heaving out great sobs that seem to come from the pit of his soul. I've never seen him like this and I simply won't keep my distance any longer. I don't care if he flings me across the room, I will not let him go through this alone. So I wrap myself about him, my own tears dripping off my face. He's stiff in my arms and I'm sure this will be the last time I touch him but I hang on. I need to hang on. I need him to know that I'm here.

Then I feel him move and I'm suddenly pulled toward him to be held tightly as if his life depends on it.

"Oh, baby," I whisper, holding him close to my chest.

". . . don't . . . let . . . go," comes at me in a gasping breath between cries.

"No, no, never again," I tell him as I nestle my cheek against his soft hair and hang on.

Right now I won't wonder at what will happen later when this moment has passed. Right now I only want him to know that I am here and I'm not going anywhere until he sends me away and how I hope that moment never comes.

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_6__ This is in reference to the S3 epi "Play with Fire" when Catherine blew up Greg & his lab_

_7 This references the S3 epi "Play with Fire"_

_8__ This references S5 epi "Grave Danger"_

_

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Boy, howdy! These two are full of angst. I love it! I hope you enjoyed this part. Part 5 should be up by Monday. (I have to do a major rewrite which might result in Parts 5 & 6 being combined. Not sure yet.) Until then, thanks for reading and reviewing. :-D  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you so very much for all your great reviews and to Moonstarer for giving me a bit of advice that was well worth it! Also, I commiserate with you, NickyStokes. Chin up and all that. You'll make it through. Thank you to all for using up a lot of kleenex. It means a great deal to me to know that I caused such a reaction. It was my intent and I've succeeded! Thank you to Nancy1, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, CSIfan8686 and all the others who've stuck with this story. _

_Onward ~_

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**Part 5**

**Grissom**

It was a simple thing really to just give in. I've been fighting it since the moment she knelt next to me but I knew, deep down, it was a losing battle. Her touch always sent a sprinkle of delight through me even when I _couldn't_ respond so why I thought I would be strong enough this day to deny her I'll never know. I'd like to think it's because I haven't been sleeping or eating much since she's been gone; that my resurrected walls to hide behind have now fallen into a crumbled mess at my feet or that, simply, I scared myself when I asked the gunman to shoot me. Whatever the reason, I now cling to her. I really don't have the gumption to ponder why I just want to hang on and feel loved even if it'll only last until she's sure I'm back on my feet.

But she claims she still loves me. I knew that before this all started but the little voice in my head that figured she'd tire of me had been booming of late, reminding me of my insecurities. When she left it proved them right, those insecurities – that all the things that make up _me_ finally drove her away and all I could do was weep at the loss. All I'd ever wanted was to love her and protect her from everything in this world no matter if that was impossible. I could at least try. I guess I should really work on my communication skills since I don't think I conveyed that very well when I was yelling at her in my office. But she frightened me. When I heard what she'd done, it made me have to think about a life without her and that wouldn't do. She doesn't know the power she has over me. Well, maybe she does now.

I'm sure other men will say I've given up my last bit of manliness by giving in but I don't care. Not now, anyway. Now I can hear it in her voice again, feel it in her body as I clutch her to me how much she cares. It's as if it has become a tangible thing, living and breathing for all to see and it's settled in my arms at this very moment. This changes things. My life, I'd so readily been willing to give up, has returned to me because the woman I love, will always love, is holding me tightly. I've been off kilter since she's been gone, my balance destroyed and now it feels as if I've come home. I missed this home.

I can hear it now. Why would I accept what she's telling me in light of my current situation? A dead man lays a few feet from me; his blood is on my clothes; my lack of sleep is catching up with me. It's tantamount to professing your love during sex. But I saw that look that used to be mine, the one that told me I was the one she loved and no other. I can't dismiss it because she's holding me so tightly and shaking just as much as I am even though I know things are different. They can't help but be different. But this very second I won't think about what's to come; won't think about begging a man to kill me; won't think that the only reason she's here is because someone pointed a gun at me. The answers I'd find if I looked too deep might not be true or too true for me to handle. No, I won't think on such things like fate or survival, destiny or luck. I haven't the strength.

Burying my head further into Sara, I don't care what comes next, not when she holds me like this; offers another apology for making me give up and telling me that if I die she dies too.

She'd die.

I can't help what burbles out of me even though it's what got me into trouble in the first place – 'I love you' repeated over and over again until she covers my mouth with hers and time slows once more. I can feel the warmth of her spread into all the spaces she once occupied chasing away the darkness that had taken up residence of late until there is nothing left but life, a life that might just be worth living.

**Sara**

He tastes sweet as I remember, not that I expected that to change. His kiss is as frantic as mine and I grab the sides of his face, trying to slow down and savor this bit of heaven that's been returned to me. Once we reaffirm the feel of our lips together, I ease back from him to study his worn face, running my hands across his skin and brushing at the tears still falling, kissing away the ones I miss. He keeps saying he loves me in a cracking voice and I echo the sentiment. He doesn't have to tell me. I know he loves me. I knew before all this started and I cradled that love like the precious object it was deep inside. It gave me life and blossomed the longer it went on. I value that love. It's become a part of me, part of my every breath.

But then I let it slip through my fingers over nothing and that's why he looks as he does today – defenseless, vulnerable, bare for everyone to see. I've never known him to show so much. He's always been a master of his emotions, able to hide them when they got in the way and bring them to the fore when necessary. Now that control is gone. Because I damaged him, his psyche, his well-being and brought him to this. I have so much to do and I won't wait for tomorrow. I begin today re-establishing the bedrock that existed beneath us, filling in the cracks as best I can and praying that it'll be enough for him to give me another chance. I want that chance; I'll fight for that chance with everything I have. I've already walked away. I don't fancy doing that again for as long as I live.

I feel a presence hovering next to me and glance up. It's Brass. The EMT's are here and I'm thankful one of them isn't Hank, giving a bit of a smile to Wayne Billson who I've worked with before. I know they want to check Gil to see if he's injured but I won't let go for fear he'll think I'm rejecting him again.

"Sara," Brass says.

I give him a slight shake of the head. He raises a brow and I sigh knowing he's right. I loosen my hold but Gil won't let go and I won't force him. Casting a look at Brass, I shrug and he silently nods and motions the EMT's to step back. They'll have to wait; they'll all have to wait until my man decides that an inch of space between us is okay. So I gather him back to me and hold on when a familiar voice drags my attention to the door.

Catherine . . . and Ecklie.

Ecklie.

Great. The one person neither of us need to see right now. I won't let him close to Gil. There is nothing he needs to say to him about anything that can't wait until he's back on his feet. I'm fully capable of turning into a screaming banshee spewing curses if need be. Right now I am the only thing standing in the way of whatever foolhardy thing Ecklie can think of and that's more important to me than my job, my reputation, or anything else on this earth.

I stiffen, ready for battle, but it turns out I needn't worry for Brass steps in front of us with raised hands to stop anyone from getting too close. There has to be a better word than grateful to express my feelings right now but I don't have much of a chance to think on it when I feel Gil's hands loosen at my back then slide down to land on my legs. I wait for him to raise his head but it stays propped against my chest.

"Gil?" I say, worry running along my tattered emotions.

When he doesn't respond I gently cup his chin and lift his head to glimpse a face that seems paler than moments before and his skin has become clammy to the touch. But it's his eyes that catch me in their grip. He keeps blinking as if to clear them then finally looks in my direction. Those beautiful vibrantly blue eyes are now gray and cloudy.

"Baby?" I now say as his tremor turns into something more and his breaths become shallow and irregular. "Brass," I call an edge to my voice that makes him turn. Eyes lock on my anxious face then move to Gil.

"Go," he urgently tells the EMT's then stands behind me as they converge.

"Take it easy, Dr. Grissom," Wayne says as they ease him to the floor. "We're going to take a look at you and see what's going on."

I scoot back only because I have to but keep my eyes on Gil's as they settle on mine. His searching hand finds my leg again and I cover it with my own then give him a tentative smile.

"It's okay," I tell him. "Just breathe steady." I watch him begin to mimic me as the EMT's go about their work. My gaze never falters. "Everything's going to be okay," I tell him brushing a hand through his hair, hearing the squeaky wheels of a gurney making its way toward us. "I'm right here."

"Sara," Wayne calls drawing my attention. "Does he have any allergies or take any medication?"

"Ah, no," I say with a shake of my head watching as he slips an oxygen mask over Gil's face.

"All his stats are low. Shock, no doubt, so we're going to transport him to Desert Palm so they can take a look at him. Okay?" Wayne says with a smile.

I know the real reason he's currently lying on his back on the dirty floor of convenience store. A man was holding a gun to his head; I walked out on him and, I'm sure he's not been eating or sleeping properly since that last morning we had breakfast together. But I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to hear that confession so I merely nod and move with them when they lift him onto the gurney, my hand now firmly ensconced in his. Catherine calls after me but I ignore her as we move across the pavement to the open doors of the ambulance.

When the doors slam shut and off we move, I find the solid sound of Gil's heartbeat coming from the monitor soothing. I answer the EMT's questions as best I can then find myself drawn to his avid stare, a look comprised of fear and love and caution coupled with a fierce grip on my hand that I refuse to relinquish.

We remain silent. I feel like I'm his sentinel, keeping him safe as I sit by his side, fending off all things through the mere feel of our hands clasped together. As long as he lets me I will guard him until he's able to fend for himself or until he has the strength to ask me to leave.

It is the most and least I can do for this man I love above all else.

**Grissom**

**1-1/2 hours later**

I hear sounds first, a wide range - multiple voices, insistent and various forms of beeping, things pushed across a floor and people barking orders. It tugs at my curiosity then at my eyes as they flutter open then blink a few times to push the fuzz away. Ah, it looks like I'm in a hospital. Funny, I don't recall that man shooting me.

There is a small noise close to my ear. Slowly, I turn my head to see who's there only to have my beard hook on something soft. It's brown . . . it's brown hair . . . and it all comes tumbling back to me.

Sara.

Sara came to me. Her hands were on my face; worry and love filled her eyes and words; her arms warmed me. And then . . . this.

She's still here. She's still here and so close to me. She didn't leave the minute everything was over.

She's still here.

I try to stop the hopeful smile that blossoms but I'm too tired to stop it. I barely have the energy to wrestle with myself over memories of torment, of questioning myself and us, of feelings of betrayal and anger that have been running through me since she left; since she didn't answer her voicemails.

Then I feel her hand move across my chest and I'm drawn to the idea that she's keeping watch over me as I've done for her numerous times before and it holds back the urge to push her away. I hate to admit even to myself that I'm helpless without her. We work better as a whole not divided, at least I do, and I want her back. But so much has happened. So many confessions; so many emotions bombarding the both of us that it's wiser to step back and wait for the flood to recede. The wreckage that remains could be new ground from which to build or nothing but worthless debris.

My brain is fried and I've no desire to battle my conscience so I grasp her hand from my chest and pull it to my lips for a kiss. I hear an unintelligible mumble and watch her slowly wake, something I like to do. Her eyes dart to mine as she backs away, her hair pulling gently from my beard, and we hold each other's gaze unsure of what to say or do. I've not let go of her hand and her fingers firmly wrap about mine. But no words come, both, no doubt, too afraid to say anything more.

A throat is cleared making us jump as if we've been caught doing something we shouldn't. A doctor, seemingly younger than Lindsey Willows, stands at my feet, a subtle smile on his baby face. With barely any preamble he tells us that I'm suffering from shock and that's why there's an IV attached to my arm and a nice warm blanket draped over me.

"You've suffered through a traumatic experience, Dr. Grissom, and your blood pressure dropped dramatically. You're also dehydrated and exhausted. We can't have that." He smiles and pats my foot. "You're staying for awhile so settle in."

He leaves before either of us can say anything which is just as well since the higher functioning part of my brain has gone bye-bye.

Then I feel Sara pull away and my hand clutches hers tightly while my eyes fill with undisguised anxiety until she flashes me that look right before she drags her fingers through my hair, something she often does. It causes me to close my eyes for a moment of remembered familiarity in that simple action then relax my hand in hers.

"Doogie Howser probably won't be back for awhile," she quips in a quiet voice and I open my eyes onto her dancing ones. The reference is correct. I believe I might have underwear older than he is.

I attempt a bit of a smile that fades quickly when her face turns serious. I'm glad I'm not attached to a heart monitor at this very moment for I fear some alarm might sound. All I can do is swallow against the lump forming in my throat.

"May I . . ."

She falters, looks away then back and takes a deep breath. She's shaking, her chin is quivering.

May I what?

May I have my hand back?

May I leave?

May I serve the rest of your heart to you on a silver platter?

"May I . . . sleep with you?"

If my brows weren't actually attached to my face they would've flown across the room. May I sleep with you? There's nothing simple about that question. It is as layered as an onion with an eye watering power that can be overwhelming.

May I sleep with you?

Yes, I want to shout. Do you know how much I've missed our snuggles that always started off our work nights on the right foot and were usually the brightest point of each day? Do you know how much I want to make love to you, to feel you, to taste you, to let you know that you are why I'm a better man?

May I sleep with you?

Are you kidding comes next. You told me you didn't love me then walked away without a second glance. You gave me back my key and left behind the things that made you think of me. You broke my trust and my heart and you think that a question like that is going to make me cave?

I frown then sigh. I hate conflict. I hate indecision. I hate that I hate all of this and wish none of it had ever happened. Then I look at her face and see my face, my worry, my thoughts and know I'm going to give in much as I did earlier because I need this too just as she does. So I tug on her hand. She hesitates a few seconds then slides in next to me and I wrap an arm about her to hold her close. Her hand moves, once again, to my chest and I nestle my head back against her soft brown hair.

A blink of an eye - a nanosecond of time that changed everything for better or worse – was all it took. That man chose not to kill me. Jeremy Roberts chose not to go back to the scene of the crime. Moments of decision. There are so many in a lifetime, so many turns that one never knows what the outcome may be. Some leave chaos in their wake while others are quiet. I much prefer the quiet like this. Outside this room noise burdens everything. Inside, it's just the two of us resting in the silence; not bothering to consider what may come when this day passes into the next.

But I know I will. Consider, I mean. So many things have happened. So much hurt has been caused and things are different now. Her touch seems softer; her motions more distinct and focused. And her eyes . . . They carry with them an urgency to restore what she wrought but I know I must tread lightly. I cannot simply forgive. It's not that easy. The shattered pieces must be put back together and I hope that I can take that step again. I love Sara. I will always love Sara. I'm just uncertain as to how this can be repaired. The heart . . . my heart is such a delicate organ and isn't used to such treatment. I don't ever want to be without Sara's love, but in order to keep my heart out of harm's way, keep myself from sinking into a pit of despair I may have to lock it up again for a time . . . or for always.

I notice my hand moves through her hair and I quickly stop it, replacing it along her back and decide that I'm much too tired to dwell on my dreary thoughts. And while I covet the feel of her so close, I will not delve into memories to painful to recall. I'll merely lay here, with her by my side, possibly for the last time, and sleep.

Perhaps, if I'm lucky, I won't dream about what was or what may be.

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_One of the neat things about getting reviews is seeing how the readers like the direction of the story and if they want more or less. Case in point, I'd planned on only 2 more parts (already partially written) to this piece which would bring a swift conclusion to the agony in the first 5 parts. But some of you have given me ideas on how to expand it a bit further. We have to see what happens to G/S, of course, but what about Grissom himself? The man asked someone to kill him (and it's on videotape). There's no getting around that. And what about his job? His life? His emotional stability? The man's a mess. And since I like to write Grissom I've decided to explore these sorts of hanging aspects to the story. The problem is that those parts aren't written yet. So, I'm asking that you stick with me as I plow through this new territory and uncover how I can mess with Grissom more than he's already been messed with. Have no fear - I WILL FINISH THIS STORY - it'll just take me a bit longer to post. I appreciate all of you. Wish me luck. :-D _


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm back! Okay, a bunch of you wanted me to continue this story so I've been working diligently around writer's block, work, writer's block and work to come up with something decent to draw out poor Grissom's angst a bit more. Here's what I've come up with. _

_Parts 1-5 are now Act One-Turmoil (I don't want to add that for fear of losing all those wonderful reviews); Act Two-Aftermath is what's coming (slowly) now and will go into Act Three-Resolution (which isn't even close to being written). _

_All this means is it will take me awhile to complete my little epistle. As we move away from the initial scenes of Grissom/Sara in the store (Act One), those two will be separated which means other characters will have their voices heard, perhaps their feelings over the whole mess that has become the lab, etc. The majority of Act Two & Three will be Grissom since there are only so many ways for Sara to apologize to everyone. (If anyone has any ideas about what to do with Sara to keep her in the story after her parts in this Act, please let me know.)_

_Story Note: I couldn't find that a Sheriff was referenced during this hazy timeframe of mine after Season 5 so I created Sheriff Roy Elam with Jeffrey McKeen as his underling. No offense to Sheriff Rory Atwater if he was still in office. :-D  
_

_As you can see, this is definitely a work-in-progress which I don't like to post until I have a reasonable first draft but I didn't want to keep all of you waiting since you've been so good to me. So, here goes. I hope you enjoy this. _

_Onward ~_

_

* * *

**ACT TWO - AFTERMATH**_

**Part 6 – 3 Days Later**

**Brass**

I stare at the phone. I've been staring at the phone for a good 15 minutes. I've picked up the handset and put it back down four times. My fingers have been centimeters from the buttons and yet I still can't bring myself to dial.

I've been doing this for the last three days.

It's not that I don't want to call. It's that I'm not sure he'll answer. And if he doesn't answer, then I know it's worse than I think it is. Not that it could be much better.

It's been three days; three days since I saw Gil with a gun to his head; since I watched him shrug when the man said he was going to kill him; since I heard the words 'kill me, please' come out of his mouth. But what gets me the most is the look on his face as he stood there waiting, hoping for the end. It was defeat – utter, crushing defeat – the kind that sucks the breath from you and leaves you wanting for what you're not sure, just a respite from the pounding in your head and the roiling of your stomach that won't be stopped by popping a Rolaid or two. It can only be stopped by turning back time but we all know that only happens in the movies.

And I blame myself.

I watched him slowly collapse into himself. Oh, I offered my help but he deftly pushed it aside with an 'I'm fine' and 'I have a lot of work to do' and I let it go even though I knew it was a lie. Gil's a very private man and doesn't like people invading his space even if it's for his own good and I respect that but, in this case, I should've barreled in full strength and gotten it out of him what was wrong. Yes, it would've pissed him off but that might've prevented what followed. And, boy, what followed proved to me once and for all that I shouldn't ignore my instincts.

I figured something was going on between Gil and Sara. It was just a feeling – interrupted looks, slight touches, the fact that they didn't seem to be fighting so much anymore. A cop goes with his gut, takes a peek at a hunch. It usually solves a case or keeps us alive but they'd been playing this game for so long. I guess I became inured to it.

Shaking my head, I try to dislodge the picture of him sitting helplessly on that grungy floor, replacing it instead with the one of both he and Sara wrapped about each other, holding on as if there was no one else in the world. But then Ecklie appeared and all I could think about was he's going to see Sara. So I did what I could, standing in front of them both and returning his glare, telling him about the second body by the chip stand and he flipped out, 'I'm not here to work', to which I very nearly replied, 'what else is new'. I'm pretty sure he could read that particular word bubble above my head.

Fortunately, the paramedics showed up and both of us were pushed aside and that's when I saw the gleam in Ecklie's eye, saw the smirk beginning to form when he got a good look at Sara and I knew trouble was bounding our way. But it's like a runaway train – there's not much you can do about it while it's happening except roll into a ball and hope this is your lucky day. And I couldn't nip anything in the bud because I had to stay at the scene. Ecklie chose to leave. So when Officer Mitchell stopped me not two steps after I'd cleared the door of LVPD with a very quiet, 'they're gonna fire Dr. Grissom', it wasn't much of a stretch to know where that came from.

I seethed, both inside and out. "Where did you hear that?"

"It's been roaming the halls for the past hour. Something about you can't have an unstable individual like that around guns."

That rat bastard!

"Keep a lid on that, Mitch, as much as you can," was all I said planning to make a beeline for Ecklie's office when Lisa Frome called after me. I looked up to see her waving me over to her desk and hastily approached.

"Your presence is requested in Sheriff Elam's office." She gave me an apologetic look. "Ecklie's in there," she whispered, "along with Director Cavallo and Undersheriff McKeen. It's about Dr. Grissom."

"Oh, joy," I said with a heavy sigh. This'll be good.

"Good luck," she gave me as I changed direction and tried to calm myself. No use going into the dragon's lair all riled up.

Coming to a stop outside the Sheriff's office, I straightened my jacket, rolled my shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension, and made sure all looks of contempt were put away before opening the door and stepping inside.

"Captain," Sheriff Roy Elam said as he rose, holding out his hand.

I shook it firmly then took the seat he offered thinking he looked like he'd sucked on a lemon.

"You know everyone here," he said as I nodded glancing toward Jeffrey McKeen and Robert Cavallo, skirting over Ecklie, that rat bastard. "Then let's get started. I've called this meeting to discuss the disposition of Dr. Grissom. What's happened is unfortunate both for Dr. Grissom and the department. Assistant Director Ecklie feels that the possible fallout from what occurred could be detrimental to CSI and the police department. Do you concur?"

Oh, how I wished for a flamethrower so I could reduce Ecklie to a pile of smoking ash. Instead I kept my eyes on the Sheriff and tried to remain solemn.

"No, sir," I answered.

"And why is that?"

My heart fluttered a bit because this was all very odd. I couldn't remember the last time any of these men had asked for my opinion on anything. But Gil wasn't here to defend himself and I was.

"Because it is one incident in an otherwise stellar career."

"He told that man to kill him," Ecklie broke in with a smug look.

I turned to him then. "Yes, he did." No point in denying it.

"That is an unstable individual," he came back with. Unstable was a harsh word. I preferred uneven. I turned back to Elam.

"Sir," I began, "the brotherhood of policemen is strong because we help each other when necessary. It is something we take pride in to cluster around those in need because we figure no one else will understand what we go through each day. Sometimes our families don't even understand. It's no different for our criminalists. Just because they arrive at a scene after the fact doesn't mean they don't witness the same atrocities we do. They have to deal with death on a day to day basis. They have to look into it, study it, understand how and why someone died, then deal with the criminals who committed these acts. It is understandable that they, too, can crack just like a cop and to treat them any differently is wrong.

"Dr. Grissom is a renowned scientist and criminologist who has built this lab up to #2 and keeps it there. He is respected and admired amongst the scientific community and the police department. He's worked a long time at this, much longer than most criminalists. He was about due a breakdown of some sort because he's always working. With the limited staff he has at his disposal overtime is rampant because crime is rampant. But he gets the job done with little to no complaining. He does a much better job than I ever did."

"What respect does he have left to give us?" Ecklie stated, cutting into my next round of pumping up Gil to these suits.

"Conrad," Cavallo said, his tone menacing.

"Dr. Grissom _was_ a world renowned scientist," he continued. "After today all of his testimony, all of his evidence will be suspect. People don't take kindly to suicide. He's now become a blight on this lab."

"No more so than you." I couldn't help it. Boy that felt good.

"Stop," said Elam as Ecklie opened his mouth to respond.

"Captain Brass is correct in that we cannot be seen denying Dr. Grissom any help he may need," McKeen added. "Especially after that problem two years ago with Officer Jimenez."

Oh, that was a time I hated to remember and found it popping up every now and again. George Jimenez, only a month on the job, accidentally killed a kid at a scene. He lost it. The LVPD glossed over it and told him to get back to work. See he was only a rookie and the assistance rules didn't apply, at least then. He had to find it on his own and all he found was the end of a gun barrel leaving a wife and newborn son. That wouldn't happen to Gil.

"Then what about his relationship with CSI Sidle?" Ecklie bounced back pulling me from my reverie. I wondered when he was going to stray into that minefield.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Elam.

Ecklie sat up straighter. "It's been rumored Dr. Grissom has been having a relationship with CSI Sidle for a number of months. I found her with him at the store in close contact. I wouldn't call what I saw as a supervisor-employee relationship."

He's more than a rat bastard. He's a prick!

My dander was up and I quickly jumped in. "I called CSI Sidle because she's a member of Grissom's team." I then turned to Ecklie. "When I called Catherine guess who showed up with her? A little assistant director-employee relationship?"

"Captain," Elam gruffly said and I forced myself to sit back but my eyes refused to leave that worm.

"Is what Conrad saying true, Captain?" McKeen said to me, drawing my attention. "Was CSI Sidle engaged in a . . ."

"I'm unaware of any relationship between the two outside of work." That was the truth. No one had ever told me anything. "For this instance she was giving him comfort. A man had just killed himself not two feet away after threatening to kill him. Hell, I would've done it if she hadn't gotten to him before I did."

"She's the reason Grissom went off the deep end in the first place," Ecklie shot back. "I have it on good authority that she walked out on him and the job."

"So she resigned?" McKeen asked of Ecklie whose smirk slowly slid from his face.

"Well . . ."

"It's an easy question, Conrad," Elam added. "Did she resign?"

"Ah, no," he slowly admitted. "She put in for a leave of absence."

She did? Or did Gil?

"Did you sign it?" Cavallo asked. Ecklie squirmed in his seat. "Did you?"

"Yes."

Everyone traded looks while I relaxed a bit. The phrase 'hoist by his own petard' seemed rather appropriate at that moment.

Elam sighed and closed the folder on his desk. "I'm putting Dr. Grissom on administrative leave with pay for an unspecified period of time. He will not be allowed back to work until he's completed the required steps to be reinstated. If, at that time, we find him incapable of returning or he wishes not to return, he will be allowed to resign with full benefits. Catherine Willows will be moved up to temporary graveyard supervisor. End of story," he added as Ecklie opened his mouth again.

I tried to keep the smirk off my face but I'm not sure I was very successful.

"Thank you for coming, Captain, and offering your insight," Elam informed me as I stood.

"Thank you for listening."

I didn't dare look back as I quickly exited the room. Gil didn't have to worry about his job or any fallout from his relationship with Sara, or lack thereof at the moment. All he had to do was take some time and figure out what he wanted to do.

That had been three days ago.

Two days ago McKeen presided over a nearly botched press conference and since that time I've been dodging the press every time I set foot outside this building.

What a time.

I wonder at life's little hiccups. How everything seems to be going right along then, bang!, a giant curve ball slams right into your face because you never saw it coming and didn't have enough time to duck. It's never very fair but, then, who said life is fair.

I rest my chin on one hand and reach for the phone with the other only to stop myself halfway there. I don't really want to be the one to remind him that I was there in case he's let that slip his mind. So I shift my thoughts to the new bottle of whiskey currently residing in my bottom drawer, trying to decide whether I should just drink it straight from the bottle or actually get a glass. That would probably look better to anyone who might look in.

"Captain?" comes from my door and I look up to see Lisa standing there. A sinking feeling suddenly fills me when I see Mitch standing behind her.

"What's up?" I force myself to ask.

"You're needed up front," is all she says. I rise, trading glances with Mitch who merely shrugs.

She settles in behind her desk and spins a small monitor to face me. It shows the exterior of the building, the press and the fact that they are running off to the left. Before I can ask what's going on Lisa provides the answer.

"Sara's coming in and the press has seen her."

"Jesus," I mutter and before the last 's' leaves my mouth Mitch and I hurry out the door and onto the walk, zeroing in on the wide-eyed CSI coming to a quick stop then backs up.

"Ms. Sidle, Ms. Sidle! What about you and Dr. Grissom?" I hear chanted over and over as Mitch motions to Officer Paul Jenings and the two of them swing around to keep the mass from her.

I do what I do best and barrel right through the middle pushing people aside and not caring what gender they might be or what I might be pushing until I make it through and grab Sara's arm.

"Ms. Sidle has no comment at this time. Please back away," I bellow dragging her with me to the front door while Mitch and Paul create a blockade behind us as we slip inside and out of harm's way.

I drop her arm as the doors close and let out a whoosh of air. "Why didn't you call or come in the back way?" I ask a bit more harshly then I intended.

She still looks shocked and I instantly feel like crap and place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry. Just ignore me. It's been a hard couple of days."

"For me, too," she admits and we pass a shared look of pain between us.

Nodding, I lead her to my office and promptly close the door. She takes the nearest chair and I plop down on the edge of my desk. "You okay?" I ask. She nods. I know she isn't. I change tactics. "So what brings you down here on such a lovely day?"

She pauses for a moment then continues. "I have a meeting with Catherine."

"Oh?" Nothing else. I don't prod. "How's Gil?" I ask wondering if she'll actually answer that. I can see her chin quiver a bit.

"As good as can be expected," she finally gives me and I know that means pretty bad.

"I've been wanting to call but I'm not sure he wants to hear from me or anyone about now."

"Probably not." She squirms a bit now, arms crossing over her chest as if to block me out.

"I should probably send a car around to make sure the press isn't bothering him."

"He's not there," she answers. "He said something about going home for awhile."

"Sounds like a good thing." And it did. Gil's mom is his bedrock and, if anyone can help him through this, it would be her.

"Yeah."

We sit there silently for a bit and I realize I'm not going to get anything else out of her so I'll do what I wanted to do when I saw her snuggled up next to Gil in the hospital. I slide from the desk and kneel in front of her. She raises her eyes to mine and I smile.

"I want you to know that I can be the shoulder to cry on or the ear to lend if you feel the need." Her eyes begin to glisten. "I mean it Sara. Please don't think you've no one to talk to."

"How can you be so nice to me after what I did?" she asks.

"Sara, I don't know what happened between you and Gil and I'm not asking. Things happen in relationships. Words spoken, actions taken." I shrug. "All I know is that you two are made for each other and will find your way back together."

"He said he needed time."

"Then give it to him. You know what he's like. I've never seen anyone think so long about certain things. Whatever happened threw him and he needs to regain his balance. He'll find it."

"What if he . . ."

"If he doesn't?" I finish for her. She nods. "I've known Gil a long time. What happened in that store wasn't him. I'm sure he's more embarrassed by it than worried he might try it again. His mom will help. She has a way with him. Just don't be surprised when he comes back and he's like the old Grissom – cut off, quiet, distant. That's how he deals. It's like a safety mechanism. But he'll come around, Sara. He has to."

She looks up at me then. "How can you be sure?"

I smile. "Once you have something good you want more. It's a fact of life." I stand then and she follows me up. "Just remember what I said."

"Thanks," she whispers then wraps her arms about my neck and I can't help but hug her back. "Thanks for keeping Ecklie away from us in the store," she whispers. "I can never repay you for that."

"No need," I respond. "It's what I do for friends." She holds fast to me then, reluctantly, backs away, looking a bit embarrassed. I smile at her. "I don't want to keep you from Catherine."

"Yeah, ah, she's coming in early to meet me," she says wiping at her face. "Thanks, Jim."

"Any time. Try not to be a stranger."

She gives me a small grin and leaves my office. I watch her walk off and can tell by the slope of her shoulders that there's a long way to go.

I believe what I told her. I believe they belong together. Will Gil overcome whatever it is that made him give up? I don't know. I hope so because those two do belong together. I hope they both remember I'm here and willing to help if need be. I'm always their friend no matter what, no matter what happens. That is what friends are for.

I'm just hoping the rest of the team goes along with that idea.

* * *

_Okay, there you have it. I hope it was worth the wait. Mind you I still have a long way to go with fashioning presentable chapters so bear with me. My posting time will not be constant unless my muse fills my head with lots of stuff. I remind you again that if anyone has any suggestions about what you'd like to see with Sara, let me know. I can't guarantee that I'll use it but it might propel me into something else. You will get credit for the help._

_Thanks again for reading and reviewing. I must get back to Part 7 - Sara.  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Howdy! I was planning on posting this on Monday last but we had to rush my father into an emergency hernia operation. (He's doing MUCH better now.) My week's been discombobulating to say the least. But I'm back in front of the computer now._

_A great big thank you to everyone who reviewed Part 6 and, especially, Nancy1. _

_If anyone out there would like to see certain things regarding Sara and her role in causing (or, at least, attributing to) Grissom's breakdown, let me know and I'll see what I can use. Thank you!  
_

_Onward ~_

* * *

_**ACT TWO – AFTERMATH**_

**Part 7**

**Sara**

_"I've called you all here for this press conference to answer your questions surrounding Dr. Grissom and the events that took place yesterday at the Tidy Widy Grocery and Gas Station."_

_ "Undersheriff McKeen, has Dr. Grissom been fired?"_

_ "Why hasn't anyone seen him?"_

_ "Will he be reinstated?"_

_ "Please. I will answer all of your questions one by one. Do not yell them out or this press conference will end. Let me start by clarifying a few things. Dr. Grissom has _not_ been fired. He's been put on administrative leave and will need to complete the required steps for reinstatement. He has _not_ been barred from the lab and is available to discuss any case he was working on with his team. His outstanding cases have _not_ been compromised since this event took place outside the venue of the lab. Now, Phil, ask your questions."_

_ "I've met Dr. Grissom and he is a dedicated criminologist. Has he informed you of any reason why he asked the gunman to kill him?"_

_ "No. Next question."_

_ "Let me rephrase. Dr. Grissom didn't try to divert the gunman's attention away from wanting to kill him. Why?"_

_ "Since I'm not Dr. Grissom I do not know what his intentions were."_

_ "So he's not given you a reason?"_

_ "As I said, Phil, there was no reason given. Clare?"_

_ "Criminologists have a high burn out rate, higher than the police. Could you say that that is what happened to Dr. Grissom?"_

_ "I would only be guessing at what led to the incident. I do know that Dr. Grissom has been performing above and beyond for the last five and a half years as nightshift supervisor with a full time staff of four. This has brought on large amounts of pressure and stress since Las Vegas has one of the highest crime rates in the nation. He's never had a day of work where someone wasn't killed."_

_ "So, if Dr. Grissom had been given more staff perhaps this wouldn't have occurred?"_

_"Well . . ."_

_ "Or if Dr. Grissom had been forced to take any vacation days in the last five years his burn out wouldn't have been so dramatic?"_

_ "How did you . . ."_

_ "Also was he given any time off after his team member, Nick Stokes, was kidnapped by Walter Gordon?"_

_ "Yes, he was given time off."_

_ "Two days hardly constitutes a valid amount of time to recover."_

_ "He was given seven days and came back five days early. That was his own choice."_

_ "But shouldn't the Sheriff have insisted that he stay off the remaining amount of time?" _

_ "Yes, we should have. We should also be able to hire more personnel but we haven't enough money in the budget. We make do with what he have."_

_ "What of his most recent personal crisis?"_

_ "I'm sorry?"_

_ "His girlfriend walked out on him."_

_ "Dr. Grissom has not deemed it necessary to reveal this bit of personal information to me."_

_ "But shouldn't . . ."_

_ "Clare, would you like it if I splashed across the newsroom that you were having personal issues? No, I don't think you would. Now, someone else please. Peter?"_

_ "You say Dr. Grissom is on administrative leave."_

_ "That's right."_

_ "Isn't that cop speak for fired?"_

_ "No. Dr. Grissom is still a member of our department."_

_ "Will he be able to return to his job?"_

_ "As I said once he adheres to the necessary departmental regimen he will be able to return to his job."_

_ "But he'll just be coming back into the same situation: stress, pressure, no new staff. Who's to say he won't have a relapse?"_

_ "I can't answer that, Peter, and neither can you. If Dr. Grissom chooses to leave CSI that will be his decision not the departments. He is an incredible asset to us and we hope he will decide to return. That's all for now. Thank you for coming."_

The first time I heard that interview the air actually left the space around me. I'm glad I was by myself. The second time I was standing in line for coffee and the television was on over the counter and I had no choice but to listen. The third time . . . Well, the third time is now and I'm sitting in the breakroom at CSI, trapped as I wait for Catherine and the possible yell-fest to come.

I can't help but sigh. I've been sighing like this for three days in between my bouts of crying, recrimination, guilt and nightmares that blast me with images of Gil's brains blown across that store and me wailing at him how sorry I am for making him give up. And all I want to do is touch him, feel the heat that radiates off him and gather up the smell of him from the pillow case I took the last time I was at his house. I fear it will be all that I have left of him when all the dust settles and that doesn't sit very well with me

My attention drifts back to the television as they wrap up additional comments regarding the failure of the LVPD to help one of its own and I so hope Gil hasn't heard any of this. I cross my fingers that Los Angeles doesn't get this news, that he's not bothered to get on the Internet or that anyone knows what happened. He's a private man and just knowing that many people know about his breakdown, for want of a better word, must be hellacious for him. He doesn't need to be reminded every minute of every day what I did to him anymore than his own memory throws at him. I shake my head. It's the way things are now and nothing can be retracted once it's out there in the ether. And it'll only continue until the next big thing comes along to divert the press' attention from what they consider news. This is voyeurism at its worst, a peep show into someone else' life, someone who didn't deserve any of this.

I rub at my forehead and wonder how he is, what he's doing. If his mom turned him away or is he tucked up safely in her arms. Does he continually think about what happened like I do. Does he go over the events that occurred after the doctor came to wake him because I can't shut it off and it replays in my head in vivid color.

That smell of ammonia and plastic that infuses hospitals fills my nose as I remember it had been a good six hours after Gil was hauled to the hospital that he was released. He'd slept for most of that time, his exhaustion evident. I didn't. Sleep could wait. I needed to feel him for as long as I could knowing I might never have that chance again.

The entrance of the nurse handing me his release papers prompted me to immediately move to my feet, a slight smile touching my lips at the sight of her gently rousing him then placing a brightly colored band aid over the puncture in his arm left by the IV. He rubbed his face then ran a shaky hand through his hair, thanking her as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the gurney only to lose all the color he'd regained in his face. I quickly grabbed at his arms afraid he would fall to the floor as the nurse took hold of his shoulders telling him it was all right to be a bit lightheaded. Next thing I knew he'd rested his head on my shoulder and I froze unsure of what I should do. I no longer carried the status that allowed me to touch him wherever I wanted but I simply couldn't help myself and reached up to rub his neck. Neither of us said a thing and I waited for him to make the next move. When he finally sat back I reluctantly let go.

"Okay?" I softly asked. He barely nodded then slid off the gurney. I kept my hands on him until I knew he was steady then handed him his jacket. "Put this on," I stated helping him into it. "Brass got it out of your car," I informed him as he straightened the collar.

He never looked at me through the entire process and I didn't try to catch his eye. What did was Brass holding the curtain for the exiting nurse then slipping inside.

"Oh, good, I caught you before you escaped," he quietly said looking first at me then toward Gil. "We have a bit of a problem."

"What's wrong?" I asked when Gil remained silent.

"It would appear that _you_, Gil, are an internet wonder." We both frowned at that. Brass then turned his attention to me. "It seems that some enterprising fellow managed to take the video feed from the store and put it on YouTube. The Sheriff's office had it pulled but not before it received over 100,000 hits." He turned back to Gil. "You, my friend, are famous."

Gil closed his eyes and sighed. I didn't have to guess what was going through his mind because I'm sure it was the same thing going through mine.

"Holy shit," I said aloud.

Brass winced a bit. "My thoughts exactly and hence our problem. The press got wind and they're camped out in the lobby. So, we have to get you out of here some other way. Sheriff's orders," he added.

It was then Gil decided to break his silence.

"I have some personal things in my desk I'd like to have back," he informed Brass who gave him an odd look.

"You haven't been fired, Gil. As of three hours ago you're on administrative leave, with pay."

"I'm fired," he responded with a slight shrug. "They just have to figure out how to say it to the press without incurring their wrath." He stood a bit straighter. "It doesn't matter to me if they're out there, Jim. After what happened I don't really have the luxury to object."

"It matters to me," Brass answered with a slight smile. "Now, I have a route all figured out so don't spoil my fun. It's not often I get to pull one over on the press. Grab your stuff and let's go."

Gil stared at Brass for a long moment then finally gave in, his whole demeanor one of defeat, worse than when he was on the floor in that store. It made me feel very protective of him despite the fact it really wasn't my place anymore.

Stuffing his release paperwork and personal belongings in my jacket pocket, I took hold of his arm since he still seemed a bit unsteady, and prepared myself for an objection. When none came I slowly guided him out of the small curtained area toward where Brass waited for the security guard to unlock a double door. Sneaking a peak at Gil, I found him leaning against the wall, eyes closed, and fought against the urge to take him in my arms. Instead I held his arm tighter and tried not to look again. The door open, Brass thanked the guard and moved on through as I urged Gil forward down the long corridor, seeing him flinch as our steps echoed around us. I recognized the beginnings of a migraine and knew we couldn't get him home fast enough.

"Here we are," I heard Brass say as he pushed open the glass door leading into the underground parking then opened the back door of the black sedan with darkened windows waiting there.

Settling into the seats, Gil on one window and myself on the other, I couldn't help but notice the silence that became something solid within the confined space. It beat at me that silence for I'd caused it and didn't know how to break it. So I kept my hands in my lap and looked out the window catching sight of the many news trucks parked along the street. That was going to be his life now – dodging the press until something bigger came along. God, it was all just getting better and better.

And then I felt his hand in mine and tensed, slowly turning toward him only to find his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the seat. The only movement I made for the rest of the trip was to close my fingers around his; the only thing I saw was the first time he did this, hold my hand this way, and it seemed such a long time ago. My vision blurred but I refused to give into the waiting tears. Not in front of him. Not when he was so vulnerable. It wouldn't be fair especially since it was me that made him so. Because I was so intent on not making a spectacle of myself, I didn't spot the news van parked across the street from the townhouse. They are like sharks lying in wait, these news people, and they pounced the minute Brass helped Gil out of the car.

"Dr. Grissom! Dr. Grissom! We'd really like a statement!" they yelled over and over as I hurried toward Gil's side.

"Get him inside!" Brass yelled as he turned to fend off the horde.

Grabbing a hold of his arm, I manhandled Gil toward the door, his keys already in my hand and sliding into the lock, as one of the reporters slipped past Brass. I managed to get the door open and pushed him inside then turned to shove on the man's chest knocking him into the bush just to the left of the stoop. A loud oomph followed after me as I slammed shut the door, locking it quickly, then moved toward the windows to shut the blinds so those vultures couldn't see in. It was there I suddenly found myself pressed against them as Hank descended on me with a short bark.

"Just a minute," I asked of him as I continued to close all of the blinds before turning to find a face full of slobbering dog happy to see me. It made me giggle which was incredibly inappropriate at the time and I gently pushed him down telling him to 'go to daddy'.

Making sure no one could see in from any angle, I turned on the lamp by the couch filling the room with a soft light. Looking up to see where Gil was I caught him watching me, a wistful, almost sad look on his face. Giving him a small smile I found myself swiping my hands along my pants to rid them of the nervous sweat that had suddenly appeared on my palms.

"Um, you hungry?" I asked watching him shake his head. "Then you need to get to bed. Doctor's orders. Come on."

Walking slowly towards him, I wanted to take his arm and pull him to our . . . his bedroom. Instead, I moved past him, feeling his eyes on me as I hurried ahead to turn down the bed, taking a moment to smell his pillow as I fluffed it wanting every moment here to fill me up with him. I carefully placed it back on the bed then looked up when I heard him enter, a slight blush coloring my cheeks. Quickly covering it up with a cough, I moved toward the bathroom to retrieve his migraine meds and a cup of water, peeking in the mirror to see him sit down heavily on the side of the bed. He looked so miserable as if he didn't have a friend in the world and I swiped at my eyes. He had so many friends, so many people willing to help, but he couldn't see that; he couldn't see past what I'd done to him. But I wanted to change that; I needed to change that for his sake as well as mine. Grabbing the glass of water, I took a deep breath and headed out of the bathroom coming around to stand in front of him.

"Take these," I said holding out his pills and the water. He looked up and gave me a quizzical glance and a corner of my mouth rose a bit. "You have that look about you."

A faint nod came and he took the items from my hand. Knowing he'd take them without me badgering him, I grabbed the overstuffed chair from the corner and pulled it up next to the bed, determined to sit with him until he fell asleep. However, before I could sit I found myself being dragged into bed next to him. Stiffening in his grasp as his arms snaked about me to pull me tight, his face buried in my neck, I tried to fight off all the memories of when we'd lain like this, when we were happy. And though I should've pushed him away I couldn't so I drew him closer and relaxed into his embrace. It was where I wanted to be, whether I deserved it or not.

Gently rubbing his back, his head became heavier against me and I knew he'd fallen asleep. I smiled. Then I stopped. I knew better. I knew this was just to get him through the next few hours. I knew this didn't mean what my heart wanted it to mean anymore than him letting me lay with him in the hospital. I had to be realistic. He'd looked defeated, broken almost and that was because of me and now, now I was starting back at the beginning, back all those years ago when I began my climb of Mount Grissom, a climb that was worth it in so many ways and now found myself back at the bottom. Would he let me back on the trail to his heart again? Should he?

All _I_ knew was that I needed another chance. I needed to make things right. And the only way I could do that would be if he found his way back to me, his _own_ way back to me. Not me pushing or forcing. I wouldn't push. Not this time. I would prove to him that I could be trusted with his heart again. I _had_ to have his trust again because otherwise, what was the point?

But if he chose to let go, if he chose to walk away and not turn back, then I would have to do the same because this was all my doing not his. This was me making the mistake of my life not him pushing me away. Now I was on the other side, the side he occupied for all those years, and it was horrible, truly, excruciatingly horrible.

That was three days ago. Three days of avoiding the press who figured out who I was; of figuring out how to explain to Catherine, Nick, Warrick and Greg why we didn't tell anyone we were together; of telling them that I'm the one who broke his heart. That was almost worse than facing Gil . . . almost.

"Sara," came at me from behind and I turn to see Catherine, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, standing in the doorway. "Let's get started."

That's all she says before walking away and I slowly rise, take a deep breath and head off into the lion's den. The office gossip chain might actually explode when they see me disappear through Catherine's door.

Hell, _I_ might actually explode before all of this is over assuming it ever will be.

* * *

_Well, there you have it. Hope you enjoyed it. Please review with any comments and/or suggestions. Part 8 - Grissom will soon be coming. Thanks ahead of time. :-D_


	8. Chapter 8

_Whew, this is taking longer than I wanted but I want it to be as good as I can get it without making you guys wait too long. I hope I'm successful. Thank you again Moonstarer, MyKate, TessTureHeart, Nancy1, CSR-GSR-BILLY-LOVER and Nicky Stokes along with everyone else who was nice enough to leave a review. I live for them! Mom calls me a review whore. I think she's right. Well, enough of that._

Onward ~

* * *

**Part 8 **

**Grissom**

It's been raining for the two and a half days I've been here. Mom says it hasn't rained in awhile. I must've brought it with me.

I like to sit and listen to the rain; listen to the way it hits the roof and the windows and anything in its path. From the slightest drizzle to the hardest downpour, it is a soothing sound, representing a cleansing of sorts and the ability to start fresh. Ah, if only it could wash away what I tried to do then it would be more than simply nature but a miracle . . . and I need a miracle that's for sure.

Of course I'd have to actually be _out_ in the rain for that possibility to shine on me. Instead I've been tucked up in bed with a fever accompanied by frequent trips to the bathroom since I got here. Surprised I wasn't sick earlier since I admit I hadn't been taking great care of myself. Just didn't see the need. Must've been from sitting on that cold linoleum floor without my jacket. I always have my jacket. I wonder why I didn't have it then.

Today I feel better . . . well, better enough to take Hank for a walk and, wouldn't you know it, it's not raining. Oh, sure it's overcast and there's a harsh bite to the wind and it looks like it might rain later, but it's not raining now. I really wanted to see if that miracle would happen. Sighing, I try to look on the bright side - I don't have to carry an umbrella or put up a hood; don't have to worry about soggy shoes and socks to cause me blisters; don't have to hear the chewing out mom would've given me when she found out I got soaked to the skin right after being sick and don't have to smell a wet dog who would be bound and determined to shake himself silly and drench everything in sight.

No, it's probably better it's not raining. Instead I can focus on the feel of the ocean spray striking my exposed skin, notice the shiver that runs through me when the cold breeze threatens to topple me from my perch upon these rocks. It is invigorating; makes me feel alive. I don't know if it's all the goose bumps or my cold nose or that my fingers have stiffened inside my jacket that makes me feel that way. Whatever it is I welcome it because it's a pleasant change from where I've been of late, lost in my own dark world, unable and unwilling to pull myself out. And I know, though I'm awash with good feelings now, they'll be gone once I leave here, once I get in my car and head back to mom's because I won't have anything to distract me from my dismal thoughts there but time and memory.

I suppose now that I'm ambulatory I _should_ get out more, take walks, go to the library . . . talk to mom and tell her why I'm here and Sara isn't. I need to tell her but I don't know where to start. My trepidation no doubt comes from how mortified I am by my actions and how shocked I am that I couldn't see any other way out. I'd guess you'd say I'm embarrassed, humiliated and completely and utterly unable to comprehend who that was standing in that store because it wasn't me. Well, it wasn't how I pictured myself. And it's not enough that I had to experience it but to have it splashed across the internet . . . Red faced doesn't even begin to cover it.

How do you explain something like that to your mother, or her friends, _your_ friends . . . or yourself. You don't, for any explanation wouldn't even come close to clearing up what happened. But that is now my life. I'm pretty sure I've lost whatever standing I had in the academic world along with my reputation as an entomologist and a criminologist. I'm a man with a name that will forever be linked with the words cracked, nut case, daft or, my favorite, whack job.

Great. That makes me feel so much better.

Oh, I'm feeling sorry for myself that's for sure. I've been feeling sorry for myself for quite some time now. It started when Sara left and just continued on until it all culminated in a great big cluster of an evening that's led to this – sitting on a rock knowing if a mermaid came my way I'd follow after her just to release myself from all the expectations of everyone around me. I would love to be given shelter from the gossip; the piteous and scared looks that will be flung my way when I pass that will speak of worry over whether I might lose it and ask them to kill me. Look there goes Suicide Grissom. Hide your gun.

I'm not built for this stuff. I don't know how to function when everything is off track – the time before the 'incident', as everyone in the news calls it, is proof of that nor do I want to know. I want my life back, the one that flowed along like a quiet river, gently falling over rocks to get to wherever it was going, happy to know it had a direction and glad to reach its destination. I had that. For awhile I had that with Sara and it was the most comfortable I've ever felt within my own skin. I fear I'll never have that again.

The squawking of a seagull pulls me back. He's stationary in flight off my shoulder tossing me a glance every now and then and I think on how nice it must be to ride the winds and feel free. No one questions his reason for being or expects him to act any other way than to be a seagull. Of course being a seagull might be full of problems – he might have a nagging wife, a passel of squawking kids and crazy in-laws that harp on him continuously. That makes me smile until I remember that I have none of that. My only family is mom and she's graciously put me up without asking much of anything.

Ah, now I'm back to that. How do I tell mom what happened without disappointing her? Maybe I can gloss over what happened in the store and just tell her about Sara and how she broke my heart. No. She checks the internet every day for information about me, she told me so a few years back. She has to know and yet she's said nothing. I rub at my eyes thinking how upsetting it must be for her to find out about her son that way.

And all her friends . . .

God, I'm so sorry, mom. I'm so sorry.

Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply of the cold that swirls about me hoping to clear away the slight panic I feel but it does nothing to that end. I need to settle down and remind myself that I used to have wonderful concentration. I could center in on a piece of evidence and exclude everything else until all my thoughts, all my ideas focused into a timeline or onto a suspect. It was a gift or so people told me. For me, it was just me. But now . . . Aside from feeling miserable all I do is dwell on what was. I can't get my head away from what happened, from what I want to tell mom . . . from Sara.

Sara. My love. My other half.

I brush at my eyes and blame the wind getting angry at myself for forgetting that _she_ walked out on _me_ and forced me to ask a man to kill me. Actually, I need to clarify that. She didn't put the idea or the words in my mouth. That was all me. And most people, when they've been jilted, don't go out and commit suicide so I can't really blame her for that either. What I _do_ blame her for is promising she would take care of my heart then breaking that promise. And she didn't break it because I was two-timing her. She broke it because I was scared she could've been killed. That's no reason to break a promise. No reason at all.

And when she came to me in the store I held out as long as I could when all I wanted to do was feel her against me again. That's why I grabbed hold; that's why I wouldn't let go of her hand in the ambulance and that's why I let her lie next to me. I wanted to see if I could forgive her. I wanted to know if I took her back I'd feel what I felt before. And, for awhile, I did. I pulled her into bed with me once we got home and held her so close I'm surprised she could breathe and, right then, I forgave her everything. But when I next awoke and found her gone from my side all my doubts and worries came rushing back.

Since my dad died and I had to become the man of the house, I lost that innocence children start life with and in its place came worry and doubt. Worry that I wouldn't measure up to what my dad and mom expected; doubt that I had it in me to succeed. And, along the way, trust was tossed out the window. I don't know exactly when. It could've been when I found out people who I took for friends were only friends through finals. Being the smart, quiet kid who was willing to help didn't bode well for me. I finally learned to keep a part of myself tucked away for safekeeping so I couldn't be hurt too badly when it would happen again. Unfortunately, that became a way of life and I found that I had very few friends and many acquaintances. It was easier that way to not share anymore than I had to. Safer, too.

But then came Sara. She broke through the tightly constructed net I'd wrapped about myself without even trying and I knew I was in for it from the very first moment. I thought I could handle it and did, badly mostly, for a long time until I couldn't any longer. I gave in to my want and let her in and felt good about myself and my life for the first time in a long time. She made me happy and I found that was nice, too.

And it was there for the taking again if I'd allow it. It was up to me to decide if I could overlook everything that happened. I had the power to make myself happy again.

When I opened my eyes with a smile on my face only to find her gone all those happy feelings disappeared like a puff of smoke, replaced with all the agony I'd been living with for however long it had been. I debated with myself about lying in bed for the rest of my life, weighing the pros and cons and deciding it was foolhardy to escape that way and not at all a trait of the Grissom family. (At least it never had been before.) I needed to face whatever my life had become, good or bad, so I forced myself up, took a shower, got dressed, ignored my scruffy beard then headed out to the kitchen. Imagine my surprise when I rounded the corner to see Sara puttering about the kitchen with Hank waiting patiently for something to fall to the floor. Instantly a warm feeling spread through me at the sight, something I'd seen a million times before, something I never got tired of and wondered again if it had all been a bad dream. But what I saw reflected in her face when she looked at me dispelled any belief of that and the warmth disappeared.

It hadn't been a dream.

It was all very real.

"Hey," she said. There was a slight flutter to her voice which matched mine as well

"Hey."

She flinched a bit then forced a shaky smile onto her lovely face. "I, ah, made you a sandwich," she said placing a neatly cut tuna sandwich on the counter. "You need to eat to keep up your strength."

My normal response to that would've been 'yes, mom' but this time I kept quiet, nodded my thanks and took the sandwich and myself to the couch. She came slowly around the side as if to sit next to me then drifted toward the front window to peer through the blinds. I watched her stand there and was filled with such an ache and, tagging right along with it, an almost unbearable loneliness. Here she was, not twenty paces from me and it was as if I was all by myself.

"The press is back," she informed me breaking our mutual silence. "I've already called Brass."

I gave a slight nod even though she wasn't looking at me. "My neighbors will be pleased," was all I could come up with that touched on nothing personal.

"Yeah, they've already trampled Mrs. Perkins' flower bed," she told me and I winced a bit. She'd known the neighbor's names before I did and I'd lived here a long time. I sighed and rubbed at my forehead.

"Do you still have a migraine?"

Her voice startled me. I hadn't realized she'd turned from the window. "It's almost gone," I assured her. She nodded then turned away and all I could do was stare at her back. The words were out of my mouth before I thought to stop them. "I think you should call Catherine."

She stiffened. "Why?" came the question, her gaze still taking in the view out the window.

I winced hating everything about this. "Because I only turned in a leave of absence for you not a resignation," I answered back quietly. "I thought . . ." I trailed off not sure what I thought, then shook my head.

I thought she'd come back and it would all just end.

I thought time would magically reset itself.

I thought she loved me enough to never start this in the first place.

"She'll need you now that I'm gone," I finished.

"Oh," was all she gave back as she stuffed hands in her pockets then turned toward me. "But you're not gone for good, Gil. It's just administrative leave." A tiny smile shook the corners of my mouth. "You heard what Brass said," she insisted.

"I heard," I answered trying hard not to focus too closely on the strand of hair that had fallen from behind her ear. I always liked to push it back into place just before kissing her. I cleared my throat and turned my attention to Hank who was busy looking between the two of us.

"Then you should know . . ."

"I know how things work, Sara," I interjected forcing myself to look at her. "They can't have someone on staff who works around people with guns. No telling when I'll go off the deep end."

We held each others gaze until I couldn't anymore. I couldn't get caught up in those eyes. I always lost myself in them even from a great distance.

"Then I'll call her," she finally said. She sounded defeated somehow.

"Good. Good."

How awkward. How unlike either of us anymore.

She turned back to the window and I just watched her stand there. I could feel her skin under my hands; feel the heat of her close to me and I had to close my eyes at the memory because that's all it might be from then on.

"The cops are here," she said breaking into my thoughts. "The press is leaving." She backed away from the window and turned my way. "Guess I should be going while the way is clear unless you need me for anything."

She sounded hopeful.

"No, no, that's all right," I lied.

She nodded then frowned. "They'll be back you know."

"I know," I said with a slight shrug. "Can't much help that."

"Guess not," she answered with a nod then paused and fidgeted with her shirt before looking at me. "What are you going to do, Gil?"

The look she gave me was fearful. I figured she thought I might run out and ask someone else to do me in if she wasn't around. It was funny but then again it wasn't really.

"I don't know," I gave her. "Maybe . . . maybe I'll go home for awhile. Sort some things out if I can assuming mom lets me in the house." I tried to put some cheer into the words but it just sounded bleak.

"She will." Sara moved to the door, her hand stilling on the knob. "I don't know what to do about this," she quietly said.

I snorted a bit at the familiarity of those words then immediately sobered, their meaning too clear to misunderstand. "Neither do I," I confessed. That was sincere. I hadn't a clue. "I guess . . . I guess I need some time."

She glanced over her shoulder and hit me with a sad smile. "Call me if . . . if you need anything or if you need to talk . . . or something." I saw her cringe at her own words.

"I will."

"Okay, then, I'll be going."

"Sara," I called and squirmed at the expectant look she gave me. "Thank you . . . for earlier."

She nodded, we kind of smiled at each other, and then she was gone. I was at the window in a flash watching her run to her car then drive quickly away and wasn't surprised at the tears that fell. They were becoming a daily occurrence for me. Pushing myself from the window I glanced about the room, eyes falling on Hank staring at the door, then to the uneaten sandwich sitting there and wondered if that was the last time she'd ever make something for me.

A hand flew to my mouth as I choked on a sob. It's such a waste. All of it.

I needed to leave.

Making a beeline for the bedroom, I pulled my duffle from the closet yanking pants and shirts from their hangers and stuffing them inside. Next I moved to the dresser and tugged open the drawer only to stop when my eyes beheld the absence of the purple crystal unicorn and the shell, the two things that most reminded her of me. They were gone. Both of them. In case we never saw each other again she was taking the parts of me she didn't want to miss. It touched me and crushed me all at once. Yelling out my frustration only made me cough and Hank bark and I had to sit on the end of the bed and hold on tightly.

Everything was so wrong.

Everything was getting darker and darker.

Everything was pressing in on me and I didn't know how long I would be able to keep upright.

Hank chose that moment to lean against my leg and whimper up at me. I laid a hand on him and gave him a rub. "I'm such a mess," I admitted with a slight grin which prompted him to lick my chin just before laying his head on my knee. "If only all the problems in the world could be solved by a lick to the chin what a happy place the earth would be."

After a few minutes of reveling in my dog's love and my own misery, I finished packing soon to find myself standing in the middle of the living room staring at that sandwich. That was all I had left – a tuna sandwich made just the way I like it. The thought of eating it turned my stomach but I shoved it into a bag anyway. Hank would need something on our journey.

Closing the door behind us I didn't look back as we clambered into the car. I wasn't thinking of anything other than getting away from everything that was squeezing the life out of me. So we drove and drove, stopping only for Hank and my relief, then continuing on until we found ourselves parked along the curb outside mom's house staring at the front door. It was early, too early for her to be up. It was a great excuse to stay in the car and worry.

What if she didn't want me here?

Did I fail her as a son?

Would dad have been disappointed in me?

Tears came again and I could do nothing but drop my head into my hands. Hank thankfully crawled into my lap and whined at me until I took hold of him. It was good to hold onto something again, something that loved me without reservation. But I'd have to let go of him eventually then what would I do?

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't inflict my presence on mom or her life. I should keep driving and never look back.

A loud rapping against my window startled me and my head shot up as Hank barked only to see mom's eyes grow wide at the sight of me. Her hands flew telling me to open the door. Now that I saw her that's all I wanted to do but was afraid; afraid of being turned away; afraid that she would leave me, too.

"Please, honey. Come to me," I heard through the glass. That's all it took.

I couldn't get the door open fast enough and wrapped myself around her. She held me to her whispering it would be okay all the while dragging me toward the house. I didn't see her neighbor, Paul Jeffries, come in behind us with my bags and Hank, nor did I see him quietly leave. It was only later I found out he'd called mom to tell her there was a strange car parked outside. It was good to know she had people who looked out for her.

We sat for a long time on the living room couch, a couch I'd studied on, watched tons of old movies from and told mom what I wanted to do with my life. This time I merely cried and told her nothing until she finally bundled me off to bed swearing I had a fever. (Of course the marathon puking I did later gave some credence to that.) She doted on me and I basked in her acceptance and played with the idea that she didn't know anything that had happened.

I don't know where these silly thoughts come from. I'd be a fool to think that what I did, what was transmitted out into the airwaves slipped past mom's attention. I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to fess up or she'd make me. Knowing that was her M.O. gave me a bit of peace. She would give me space but only for a short while then I'd have to come to grips with whatever was eating at me and tell her everything.

And today was that day.

And being that I've suddenly become a coward, I bolted from the house as early as possible and now find myself sitting on these rocks, Hank probably wondering when we're going home so he can warm up. I guess I've put it off long enough. I'm going to have to tell her sometime, embarrassed or not, humiliated or not. She deserves to now why I'm here and what I've done.

So I clamber down the rocks thinking I feel a bit warm despite the cold and know what mom will tell me when I get home. And she won't be wrong. I'm a pig-headed, stubborn fool who reminds her of dad. That makes me feel a bit better. At least I remind her of a person who was level-headed instead of the suicidal freak I've become.

Shaking my head to push away such thoughts I start off across the sand only to turn at Hank's insistent barking. He stares at me then looks behind him then stares at me again.

"Come on, boy, its cold out here," I call to him and start off again only to stop a few steps later as his barks continue.

Looking again, I see him running back to the rocks then barking over his shoulder. A flash of 'Timmy's in the well!' runs through my head. Hank isn't Lassie but he does seem intent on something. My own curiosity peeks and I head back. He runs to me then back to the rocks, an urgency in him that makes me pick up my pace. As I near he begins to whine and drag at something in the rocks, something that looks like a pillowcase. Carefully reaching for it, I heft it up only to hear a soft sound emanating from it. Placing it on the sand, I pull the twine tying the top together and peer inside. My breath catches at the sight. Five kittens, bedraggled, shivering and very, very tiny huddle together and my heart breaks for them. Who would do such a heartless thing to these poor defenseless creatures?

Whipping off my jacket, I tenderly transfer each kitten from the confines of their wet enclosure to its warmth, pulling up the zipper and wrapping the arms about them to keep them inside. Back on my feet in a flash, I hurry toward the car. Hank bounds inside the moment I open the door and watches as I place the foundlings on the front passenger seat. Slipping inside, I turn on the ignition then the heater before giving our little orphans a look. What catches my eye is the worried look on Hank's face and the fact that he's got his paws on either side of my jacket as if to make sure they stay put. It touches me and I have to look away as I buckle up.

"Damn wind," I mutter swiping at my eyes as I drive toward the exit.

* * *

_I know this is long but there was so much Mr. G wanted to say that I dare not cut him off. He is a mess and I don't want to add to his worries. _

_Mama Grissom in this story is the fanfic Mama not the one portrayed in "The Two Mrs. Grissom's".  
_

_'Timmy's in the well' refers to Lassie since she always seemed to be trying to rescue her boy from one predicament or another. _

_And my mom questioned the idea that the neighbor, Paul Jeffries, could call Mama Grissom. I do know that there are various ways to alert a deaf person and I'm almost 100% certain that a phone call might trigger a small device under her pillow that could wake her. If not, well, call it poetic license. I hope you enjoyed this section. Please review._

_Next up will be Catherine / Sara. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks go out again to CSR-GSR-BILLY-LOVER (GSR is a bit down the line unless special memories overtake the 2 of them), My Kate, TessTureHeart, Nancy1 and everyone else who took the time to review. It spurs me on! _

_Well, here it is the meeting between Catherine and Sara. I hope it plays out well and true to the two characters. Catherine is as dedicated to Grissom as Sara wants to be again. Keep those ideas coming! I'm gonna need them after Chapter 10.  
_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 9**

**Catherine**

I hate Gil's office.

It's not the creepy crawlies he keeps on his shelves under heat lamps. It's not the piles of paperwork that refuse to go away. It's not all the butterflies and cockroaches on the wall. It's not even Miss Piggy sitting right on his desk to welcome any and all guests. No, it's not any of that.

It's because he's not here. And it's because of the _reason_ he's not here.

Sara.

Sara's the reason he isn't here and she's sitting right out there in the break room, soon to be sitting across from me. A meeting, I remind myself, I agreed to.

I stare at his framed Certificate of Honorary Ownership of Trigger sitting proudly next to a ladybug desk calendar and can't help but grin. I remember the goofy look on his face when he showed it to me. He was as excited as a little kid at Christmas and I found myself adoring him more than the day he'd helped Lindsey work on a science project that had me flummoxed. He'd been patient and helpful and was in full teacher mode by the time I found them hunched over some complex DNA/universe/bug thing that I still don't understand. Lindsey got an A and the smile that graced his face at the news was infectious. And then Nick was taken and that smile disappeared along with everyone else's.

But we got through that. Nick was found, the team came back together, and Gil, well, I didn't notice it at the time but something was different about him; something was different about all of us but Gil, he seemed to, I don't know . . . glow. That's the best way I can describe it now but then I couldn't really place what it was. It took about a month for me to get it through my head that that smile was back – the one he'd given Lindsey – and it stayed with him throughout the days. I think it even helped Nick when he came back. I know it helped me. And I hadn't a clue what it was that put it there and didn't care. Gil was changing for the better and it never occurred to me that it was Sara's doing. I never even gave it a thought until she left and that smile disappeared as if someone turned off a light.

Gil Grissom is a conundrum, a riddle, a logical postulation that evades resolution (or so it says on Wikipedia). That description is Gil in a nutshell. He is brilliant, introverted, aggravating, loyal, ethical and proud and can be easily hurt, his feelings there to step on if someone desires. And Sara stepped on them bad and, for that, I will never forgive her. And yet here I sit staring at the clock noting that in less time than it'll take to walk from the break room to this office I'll have to ask her to come in, smile and reinstate her all because Gil asked me to.

I rub my face with both hands and sigh. I promised. I promised Gil that if she came looking I'd take her back. Damn, man! He was so quiet and vulnerable and I simply can't say no to a man who looked like he did that day. I'm such a sucker! I fall for it every time. Those sad eyes and drooping shoulders, that ache I heard in his voice that made me feel as if the whole world was against him. I know it wasn't an act. Gil doesn't do that. And he got me. I should've turned and walked away but I couldn't when I caught him staring off into space when he should've been working on our evaluations. I knocked on the doorframe then came inside his office finally having to knock on his desk to get his attention.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked sitting opposite him.

"Ah, yeah," he said a bit flustered at having been miles away, running a hand across a very tired face. "I, ah, would like to ask a favor."

"Anything. You know that, Gil." I watched him fumble for words, not an unknown trait but still it caught my attention. "Ask away," I said seeing his shaky smile turned my way.

"Ah, if . . . when Sara comes back would you . . . would you please make sure she's put back on grave."

My mouth dropped open. I was flabbergasted. What was he doing? Why would I want that woman who ripped out his guts back here, under the same roof, with any of us? I didn't even try to stop my displeasure at his request from streaking across my face.

"Gil . . . "

"She's a good CSI, Catherine."

"She quit," I countered as he shook his head.

"She took a leave of absence."

I eyed him then trying to figure out what he was doing. "So you're telling me that you could work with the woman who left you hanging?" Not very nice but I needed an honest answer.

He cleared his throat. "I'll have to." The voice was certain but his eyes gave him away.

"And if you can't?"

He looked away. "Then I'll leave."

"Gil . . ."

"Catherine," he said looking back at me. "Please do this for me?"

I shut my mouth then and held his gaze seeing all the hurt he was feeling in one glance. I slowly nodded my head. "If that's what you want."

"It's what I want."

He picked up his pen and pretended to study a piece of paper on his desk. I couldn't just leave it at that.

"Despite what you might think," I began trying to catch his eye, "I'm here for you, Gil. Talk and I'll listen."

He lifted those sad eyes and tried to smirk, failing miserably. "I appreciate that, Catherine. I've always considered you a great friend but I'm afraid talking won't change what is."

"Maybe not but at least you'll have me to lean on until things get better. I don't mind."

He sighed, a from your toes kind of sigh that made me ache for him. "I don't have high expectations for things getting better but . . . thank you anyway."

Forcing his lips into something that resembled a smile only made me want to wrap him in my arms and never let go. But this was Gil Grissom. He may look like a teddy bear but I believe he'd frown on it if I actually called him that. So I left him there in his office and didn't mention it again. And that was my first mistake.

I never should've let him hide. I should've forced him to talk to me not for my own pleasure but for _his_ peace of mind. That man can clam up so tight that I just want to smack him. Keeping everything inside doesn't keep the pain from going away, it just magnifies it until it explodes. And he used to be like that, talking it out, getting angry, but when he started to lose his hearing he caved in on himself, pulled away so no one would know. So you'd think once his hearing was repaired he'd change back. Not a chance. He kept on with his quiet and cryptic ways.

Until Sara.

Sara.

Damn, Sara!

To hell with what I promised!

I'm not taking her back.

I won't do it!

"_It's what I want_," comes blazing back to me and I slam my fists on the desk, all of his crap bouncing and tinkling and rolling . . .

A loud tock tolls through the room, much louder than I ever remember hearing, and I look up. It's time. I can hear her footsteps coming down the hall. I'm about to make my second mistake. The phone rings and I sigh.

"Willows," I say into the receiver.

I hate Gil's office.

**Sara**

My steps are measured, slow you might say, because I really, really don't want to take this meeting especially since I saw her duck into Gil's office.

Oh, boy. His office and his best friend. Toughen up, Sidle. You've been face first with her before and walked away, mostly unscathed. But this time you messed with her boy and the claws will be out. Stepping into an office that reeks of him will be a piece of cake compared to that.

Drawing in a deep breath, I slowly exhale and try to think of rolling hills with flowers stretched as far as the eye can see, Hank bounding happily through them chasing butterflies. It doesn't work. I'm as taut as a violin string that's just about to snap and every part of me screams run! But I've already done that and look where it got me.

Alone.

Scared.

Disappointed in myself.

No, I'll face this like I faced every new foster home, new job, new experience – with a smile and a yes to everything then fall apart later when I'm in the comfort of my own bed.

Sucking in a deep breath, I pause at the door seeing Catherine on the phone. She motions me in and I comply, taking this bit of time to feel his office. I know that sounds insane but this office _is_ Gil. All the piles of paperwork on his desk; all the animals lined up on his shelves and Miss Piggy proudly greeting guests as they walk in. His Billy Bass is silent but that's probably because Warrick stole the batteries again.

It feels different though. Everything seems to take on a life of its own when he sits in that chair. All the specimens and books and posters and butterflies are all a part of him and, today, right at this moment, they're just things taking up space. Right then I know this job won't mean as much since he isn't here but it's a job that will keep me in Vegas until he comes back, until he decides what we are to each other. I can only pray that we are still something to each other even after all of this.

"Sara," I hear from directly behind and it makes me jump. I quickly turn, pulling my hand from caressing the spine of one of Gil's favorite books, and try to keep the surprise from my face. "Thank you for coming in early."

I nod. "I would've been here earlier but I got caught in the press phalanx outside."

"Ah, yes. I'm surprised they haven't been staking out your house," she says heading over to Gil's chair. I try not to notice the pissy tone in her voice.

"They'll probably be there when I get home," I answer pulling over a chair to sit down.

"And the next night after that until something else happens to draw their attention. They're like gnats chasing the nearest light source," she says clasping her hands together on top of the desk. "So, what can I do for you?"

I find my mouth has gone dry. She gives me a close mouthed smile but I can see a tightness about her lips that suggests she's not only pissy but angry. And do I blame her? Not at all.

"I, ah, was wondering if you needed any help to cover for . . . for Grissom's absence?"

"Ah, the one who caused the absence is asking for work," she clarifies in short clipped words.

I mush my lips together in order to keep any retort safely within. I can't really be angry with her since she's right.

"Silence. Probably safer that way," Catherine states with a raised brow and a smirk.

I shake myself out of that silence. "I'm here to offer my help, Catherine. You're down two people – me and Grissom. I'm willing to come back and help but if you'd rather not I'll offer my services to day or swing."

She eyes me then and I can only imagine what's going through her head. I'm responsible for nearly getting her friend killed. I don't know how she can even stay in the same room with me. But I keep such thoughts to a minimum. I've committed myself to mending what's broken and neither Catherine nor anyone else is going to make me waiver from that conviction.

"I want to tell you what went on after you left," she begins staring me straight in the eye. I do my best not to look away. "First of all Nick and Greg treated Gil like shit. They blamed him for your leaving and he never defended nor explained himself."

"It wasn't Gil's fault," I quickly state flinching only after I'd used his first name and saw her eyes narrow.

"Well, since someone wasn't answering their cell they never knew that," she says sarcastically. "Warrick and Hodges stuck by his side and I tried to get him to talk which only made him keep away from me. Even Brass couldn't get anywhere with him. He became like the old Grissom – quiet, introspective, and very, very sad. He was devastated, Sara, and _you_ did that to him. You took that quiet man, pulled him out of his rut, promised him the world then turned him inside out when you left. I know he must've called you and, since you didn't return Nick and Greg's calls, I'm pretty damned sure you didn't return Gil's either."

I can only shake my head.

"So, if you weren't talking to anyone how did you happen to be in that store? Listening to the police scanner again?"

"Happenstance."

Confusion rips across Catherine's face. "What?"

"Fate. Fortune. Destiny. Call it what you will," I give her. "I was creeping back with my tail between my legs to try and make amends. I'd been trying to get up the nerve to call him, to plead with him to meet me, to apologize and beg his forgiveness, when Brass called to tell me he was in trouble. I couldn't get there fast enough. And when I heard him on that video feed, heard how much I'd broken him . . ."

"You nearly ran again?"

It was my turn to narrow my eyes. "No. My heart broke even more at what I'd done. I've only ever wanted him. I fought tooth and nail for him and then I had him."

"The fighting more fun than the having?"

"Having was bliss. And while I would ask him for forgiveness I would never be able to give it to myself."

"It'll take a lot more than words, Sara."

"I know and that's why I'm here. I want to prove to him that I'm not going anywhere anymore no matter how hard it gets, no matter what crap Ecklie or you or anyone else throws at me. He's more important than everything put together."

"And if he won't take you back?"

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. If she only knew how many times I've wondered that myself.

"Sara?"

"If he doesn't want me here," I finally say, "I'll leave."

"Just like that?"

I nod. "Just like that."

She looks at me for a long time and I force myself to keep hold of her gaze. It feels like a battle of wills and I'll be damned if I give in.

Tilting her head, she raises a brow. "Why stay at all, Sara?" she finally asks.

Why stay? I'm staying because Gil may come back and give me a second chance. I'm staying because I can't leave without seeing him one more time. I'm staying because I actually love my job, just not so much without him here.

"Catherine, I did something incredibly stupid. I caused great grief in someone I truly love. I caused all that happened the other night by making him think I didn't care. I did that and I don't know if he'll be able to forgive me. But I plan on waiting until he tells me what he wants to do and if that means I work here until he decides or sit in my apartment, that's what I'm going to do.

"I've apologized to him and I'll apologize to each and every one of you as many times as you want. I'll work all the decomps. I'll do all the paperwork. And if you can't stand being in the same room with me, I'll stay out in the field. I'll take all your evidence and process it myself. I'll work doubles and triples and won't ask for overtime. I'll get everyone's lunch every day." I pause to catch my breath. "In short, I'll do whatever you want because I have so much to make up for."

I watch Catherine's face as the silence grows between us. She fiddles with the pen in her hand then looks towards Miss Piggy for a moment before turning back to me, a confused look on her face.

"Why did you do it, Sara? Why did you leave him? He's loved you forever and you treated him like dirt. Was it payback for all the times he led you on then backed off? Or was it something else?"

Her voice was soft and no longer angry and I knew I had so much more to apologize for than just cutting _him_ off at the knees. Catherine was his friend, had been for a very long time and what I did to him, I did to her, too.

"I like to think that I'm not that small, that I didn't take any pleasure in what I did." I pause again and try to still the quiver in my chin.

"But you did."

I dip my head ever so slightly. "And I'll hate myself forever because of it."

"Don't," she says which surprises me. "Hate yourself just a little because we all take pleasure in hurting the ones we love once in awhile. I can't tell you how many times Gil told me how much he hated himself for treating you so badly."

"He said that?"

"Well," she says with a bit of a smile, "he did after I badgered it out of him." The shock I feel must've registered on my face. "I can get most anything out of him. But the two of you . . . well, that was something he never admitted to and I never thought he'd have the courage to follow through."

"It started after Walter Gordon took Nick." I don't know why I told her that. It was no one's business but our own.

"Awful times," Catherine says. "He seemed happier, more comfortable in his own skin after all of that. You did that," she said drilling me with a hard look. "Then you took it away."

I swallow the lump in my throat as she reminds me again what a heartless bitch I've been. "Yes, I took it away and I want nothing more than to give it back and the only way I can think of doing that is to show him that I'm not running anymore, that I'm here to stay."

"And I'm you're first hurdle," she says as a statement rather than a question.

"Yes." What else could I say.

"And if I say no will you give up? Leave in the dark of night?"

My jaw clenches and I hold her gaze. Determination fills me. "What I did was childish and cruel. I have to live with that. I don't plan on doing it again."

"And if he says no?"

I want to say if he says no my life is over. If he chooses not to give me another chance I'm done. If he says no . . . if he says no I don't know what I'm going to do.

"I want nothing more than to take back what happened, Catherine, but since that's impossible, I want to prove to him that if he gives me another chance I won't let what he's given me slip through my fingers again. That when I told him he was my everything, I meant it. You know how I can be."

"Tenacious."

"A dogged bitch on wheels when I see something I want."

"That, too," Catherine says with a slight nod, her eyes narrowing once again.

I can feel a different kind of anger, more quiet than loud, coming from her now and I sit a bit straighter in my chair.

"If it was just me," she slowly begins, "I'd show you the door. But it's not just me. Gil figures into this as well. He's been in my life since before Lindsey was born and he's always made sure that I had what I needed. Because of that, I'm very protective and don't like it when someone messes with him, especially someone he loves because, when Gil loves you, he loves all of you whether or not you trample his guts out."

I know that. I really do.

"And right now I'm royally pissed at you and I'd like nothing better than to beat you senseless and drop kick you through the wall. But that's not what Gil would want. If he was here he'd want you to have your job back."

She leaned forward then, her tone dropping an octave or two, the sound making my stomach clench.

"Look upon this as an opportunity, Sara, an opportunity to make things right because if you screw with him again, you'd better run far and fast because no one hurts my friends the way you hurt him a second time. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good," she says then leans back and opens a folder. "I'll expect you here tomorrow night."

I'm startled. "Um, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she says with a slight smirk.

"Why?" I ask.

She looks up. "You still have the boys to face and I don't think they'll let you off as easily as I just did."

That was easy?

"I expect nothing less."

And I didn't. It wasn't going to be a cakewalk through the minefield of Nick, Warrick, Greg and, especially, Hodges. It was part of making amends for the shitty way I treated all of them.

"Have a good evening," Catherine says, picking through the folder and ignoring me.

"I'll see you tomorrow night," I say and hurry out of there wanting nothing more than a gulp of fresh air and a gallon of water for my dry mouth.

But I'm excited knowing I've taken the first step in getting him back. I can't fail. I won't fail not when so much is at stake. Not when my whole life is at stake.

Gil was my future.

Gil _is_ the only future for me and I'll fight for him every step of the way.

* * *

_There you have it. I hope none of you were disappointed. I didn't really want Catherine ripping Sara's head off because think of the blood spatter and all the clean up. Too much. _

_As we all know Walter Gordon kidnapped Nick in "Grave Danger" then nearly blew up Grissom. Despicable fellow._

_Next up - Grissom / Annie Grissom (Mama). Remember, she's not the Betty Grissom from the series. _

_Thanks again for all your support and I hope you enjoy the Royal Wedding tomorrow. My Tivo's all set. :-D_


	10. Chapter 10

_First off I'll say that this is a looooong chapter. I couldn't seem to find a place to break it so let it go. This chapter also introduces my version of Mama Grissom who lives in or near Marina del Rey, California. She will be speaking and signing. (Hopefully I make that clear in the text.) _

_Secondly, I would like to thank my cadre of devoted readers and reviewers who've stuck with me. Your reviews make me want to skip work and write-write-write! Nancy1, Moonstarer, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, My Kate, TessTureHeart, NickyStokes, was spratlurid quimby, SevernSound, ILoveJorja and gsrfan34. You guys are the best._

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Part 10 – 4 days later**

**Grissom**

I find myself humming. Not Rachmaninoff or Beethoven or even Led Zeppelin but, oddly, Silent Night. Christmas isn't even within thinking distance but the kittens seem to like it. Of course they may not like it if I sing. Although Sara says . . .

My breath catches. My chest hurts. My sorrow deepens and, this time, I can't blame the wind for my blurry vision since I'm tucked up on the soft couch in mom's den, the kittens snuggled in my lap and Hank lying next to me.

I want to blame something or someone for my current state of affairs. The obvious choice is Sara. I thought it would be easy to remove her from my mind but I don't know why. She was always with me when she was gone even though I tried to dismiss her with constant work. That only made it worse when the day was through and I was too exhausted to keep her face out of my dreams and was reminded of how much we had and how much was lost. I shake my head to dislodge these mental ramblings but I can't seem to turn it off. Yelling at myself only makes it worse, so I close my eyes and let it come.

It was sunny (like almost every day in Vegas) and it was going to be a good day, I could feel it in my bones. I couldn't keep the pleased grin off my face when the last bit of paperwork disappeared into a folder and was filed; when a particularly annoying case magically solved itself; when Ecklie announced he was going on vacation. Hot damn, everything was turning out for the better. And I knew it was going to continue as I hustled to my locker, grabbed my stuff and lit out hoping I wouldn't run into Sara. Today was a special day and I couldn't let her see me before I was ready. So I hurried home, dropped my stuff at the door, stripped and jumped in the shower. The water was especially soothing that day – just another happy note for the day – and I stayed in a bit longer than I'd planned, finding myself humming then singing a tune I'd heard while grocery shopping.

"'You make me happy whether you know it or not, we should be happy that's what I said from the start, I am so happy knowing you are the one that I want for the rest of my days. For the rest of my days.'"

The words fell away but the humming continued as I smiled and turned off the water, the catchy tune still rolling through my head as I pulled back the curtain only to stop dead at the sight before me.

"Ah, hi," I stammered hastily grabbing a towel to cover myself.

"Don't cover up on my account," Sara cheekily said and I could feel myself blushing from head to toe.

"How, ah, how did you get in?" was all I could think to ask as she slowly approached, grabbed another towel and began to dry my hair.

"You should really make sure you lock your door before you step into the shower. No telling who might come waltzing in."

"Why . . . why would they want to do that?" I asked trying control myself at her nearness and knowing the towel wasn't nearly heavy enough to show her I was failing.

"Well, for one thing who wouldn't want to get a glimpse of you in the all together," she answered nuzzling along my neck. Torture!

"Um, anything else?" I vaguely remember asking. I could feel her smile against my skin.

"Your singing. Who wouldn't want to hear that?"

I leaned back then. "Okay, now I know you're just making fun."

She giggled then shook her head. "I'm not. You sounded . . . happy. I like that. I want to hear more."

It was my turn to smile then as I ran my thumbs over her cheeks. "I am. Happy, I mean. You make me happy, Sara."

Her smile was deliriously pleased, as was mine, and I took that moment to grab her hand and drag her into the living room, picking up a long box tied with a yellow ribbon and handing it to her.

"I was going to give this to you after I made you breakfast but I can't wait."

She looked at me then at the box. "What is it?"

"Silly, you have to open it to find out," I answered, a big goofy grin on my face.

"Okay," she said sliding off the ribbon and then lifting the lid, pulling back the tissue. She gasped and her eyes shot up to mine.

"I love you, Sara, with all my heart," I began, my rehearsed words flying from my head when she lifted out my house key then swiped at her eyes. "Please move in with me, Sara. Please say yes."

I thought I'd blown it with such a juvenile plea. I had a whole slew of phrases of wants and desires, flowery language that would appeal to her, or so I thought. I'd spent weeks sifting through everything I wanted to say and boiled it down to a few paragraphs. Please move in and please say yes hadn't been in those paragraphs.

My mouth opened to correct my flawed delivery when her arms wrapped about my neck and she was whispering yes, yes, yes! in my ear.

I laughed and held her to me then spun her around. We both fell on the couch with a loud oomph when my towel fell off and caught under my foot. But neither of us minded and with each kiss I laid upon her soft skin I sang to her another verse of that song from the shower, then made love to her and grinned from ear to ear when she added my key to the others on her key ring. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Even now I find myself smiling. And all I have to do is pick up the phone, tell her I love her and go home. It seems like an easy thing to do but, as with most things, it isn't even close. I'm not near ready to forgive her or forget what I did because of her or even see a moment when I can.

That scares me more than anything.

My smile quickly vanishes.

What if I can't forgive her? What if my heart won't let me get over this, trapping me within this black cloud that seems to have attached itself to me? What if that's as happy as I'll ever be?

A mewling breaks through my depressing thoughts and I shake them back into the dark looking down at the little fuzzy faces in my lap. The forgotten eyedropper in my hand, filled with a concoction the vet came up with, continues its journey to warm the bellies of these little ones. Of the five I originally found three have already left us – two gone before I could get home and the other not long after. That leaves only two, two struggling to survive someone's attempt to drown them.

It's important to me that they live. No one should treat an animal this way. No one should treat anything this way – tossing them away like trash because they become a burden. I see it happen over and over nearly every day and I will never understand it and hope I never do. These babies should be cherished not ignored; should be wrapped in a warm embrace and not torn from the earth. When I look at the two of them, see them struggle to survive, see them hold onto each other I'm reminded suddenly of Sara and me and how I felt saved in that store when she held me; saved from falling and losing myself forever.

I want to feel that way again. So why _can't_ I pick up that phone? Why _can't_ I just take her back?

I lose sight of the kittens again and don't even attempt to brush away my tears. They are a daily occurrence. Something else that is new.

God, will anything ever be the same again.

**Annie Grissom**

Gil didn't come to dinner again and I know where he is. Those kittens have become very important to him and, each time we lose one, I can see the hurt build in his eyes. There was already so much there when he arrived here. I don't know how much more he can take.

He's his father's son, though. Tight lipped. Wanting to prove that he can handle anything. I've tried to tell him over the years that it doesn't make you weak to care, to love, to fail. The weakness comes from not picking yourself up and trying again; getting back on the horse; facing what you fear most.

But I've not seen him this way for a long time. Oh, he'd gotten very good at covering up his loneliness but a mother always knows. And I believe there is an advantage to being deaf for over the years I've learned to watch people, to find their 'tells' as Gil likes to call them, and he has plenty. The sighs (I may not be able to hear them but I can see them plain as day); the look on his face when he sees a couple holding hands or sitting somewhere quietly and the way he smiles at Hank when they're out playing fetch as if he knows his dog will be the only love in his life. I know it sounds silly but that's what I see.

But then Sara became something tangible to him. For years he's spoken of her, how she'd turned his head with her intelligence and smile and I thought for a long time she would be the one. But either fate or his insistence that he was too old kept them apart until the day he called asking if he could bring her home to meet me. I wholeheartedly agreed and believe I smiled for 24 hours straight after that call. My neighbor, Paul Jeffries, thought I'd taken a happy pill. 'Nope, no pills,' I told him. 'Just pure and simple happy.'

I'll always remember that spring day when I ran from the window I'd been stationed at since I'd gotten up (before the sun, mind you), straightened my clothes, ran a finger over my teeth to wipe away any remnants of lipstick and waited for the lights to flicker announcing my guests. I had that door open before the second flick causing both Gil and Sara to lean back in surprise. I smiled and hoped I didn't blush clear to the tips of my ears. I saw Gil laugh and wished, for the millionth time, I could hear that sound knowing it would be lovely indeed.

"Mom, this is Sara. Sara, Annie Grissom," Gil introduced and I looked at Sara's outstretched hand, pushed it aside and gathered her up in my arms. I believe I startled her for she tensed slightly before relaxing in my arms.

Pulling back, I smiled at her. "You are very welcome here, Sara," I proclaimed then dragged her into the house, leaving Gil on the porch. "Sit, sit," I pushed leaving her to make her way to a seat as I scrambled toward the kitchen to get refreshments noticing Gil still standing on the porch. "Get in here," I signed to him, seeing him smile, then hurried off. I didn't have to stand on ceremony with him. This was his house, too.

Returning to the living room with a tray of coffee, tea and lemonade along with a side of homemade sugar cookies, I left it on the low table in front of the couch and took my own seat across from them when Gil motioned me to sit, handing out the drinks himself. We settled in for a nice long stare until Sara broke the silence with a signed "nice to finally meet you".

Well, my heart doubled its pace at that. Gil was grinning like a fool and I could see that Sara was nervous that she'd gotten something wrong and I didn't want to leave her in the lurch.

"Ditto," I responded with a knowing look toward Gil. He blushed and Sara smiled. "I've been waiting and waiting for him to bring something home other than a dead bird and now he has." I grinned at her nod of understanding.

"Geez, already I'm outnumbered," Gil signed with an exasperated look which made Sara and I laugh. He was so cute when he was perturbed.

"Come on," I signed to Sara. "I want to show you something."

I pointed toward the dining room table and watched as Sara headed that way, then leaned over quickly to give Gil a peck on the cheek. He looked up at me and I could see it in his eyes. He loved her. He loved her more than anything.

Wiping my lipstick from his face, I followed after Sara seeing she'd found what I'd left there – the Grissom photo albums. Always a good place to start when introducing a new person to a family. And we sat there for hours poring over Gil's baby pictures (that made him blush then remember the little things that make memories great); his first birthday; his first dog; his first day at school; his first report card (all A's); his first ribbon for winning a Science Fair in grade school. And onwards and upwards until he left for college. Every step of his young life documented so that I would never forget how fortunate I was to have a son like Gil.

Then we started on my wedding pictures, introducing my beloved, Daniel, to Sara. I miss him awfully. I often wonder what Gil would've been if his father had lived. I'm sure he would've continued with his bugs, but a criminologist? I'm not sure. His preoccupation with death seemed to overtake him after Daniel died. I wonder if he would've been a teacher instead, or a professor at some prestigious school or joined National Geographic as a resident scientist. If he'd done one of those things he might not have had to worry about some stranger shooting him, whether he asked them to or not. At that thought I noticed Sara rubbing Gil's back as he rubbed at his forehead. I covered his hand with him and smiled at him.

My boy had been fatherless since he was nine and he'd taken it upon himself to take care of me. Now I was sitting with the woman I supposed would be taking care of him and nothing could make me happier for my boy deserved the best of everything and he thought Sara was it. Who was I to second guess him? Or her, for that matter. It was apparent she loved him. I could see it in her soft caresses through his hair as we continued through the photos, her smiles and fits of laughter over something he'd whispered to her. It delighted me to no end.

So with happy smiles and new memories we went out to dinner that night and, before the meal arrived, Sara and I ended up in the ladies room. (Always go in pairs – it's safer). It was here she told me what I already knew and I valued her even more.

"He loves you, you know," I said to her. I've always been a straightforward type. "Very much."

She ducked her head then gave me a small smile. "I've loved your son since I first met him all those years ago in San Francisco," she began, "but, I thought we'd never get together. He can be very stubborn." I laughed at that. That was very true. "But now that he's allowed me in, he's everything I'd thought he'd be. He's warm and caring, funny and serious. I knew he had a passion for bugs and solving puzzles, but he's passionate in other ways as well and makes me feel as if I'm the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm madly in love with him. I know I always will be. Thank you for raising such a wonderful man."

I found myself hugging her again. I couldn't seem to stop hugging her.

He'd finally pissed and gotten off the pot and now he had _this_ woman in his life. I'd been so worried that after I left this earthly plane he'd be alone and I knew he had such a love inside him. Now I didn't have to worry as long as Sara was by his side.

But that was then. That was when the world seemed to be moving in the right direction. Now my worry is running a marathon through me and it's wearing me out.

I know what happened to him in that store. When you have a son who is a famous criminalist, word gets out. (Thank you, Jim Brass.) Also having a Google Alert on his name doesn't hurt either. How else is a mother going to keep track of a son who won't tell her that his job can be dangerous or that he's been known to carry a gun or crazy people take offense that he does his job well.

Or that he asked someone to kill him.

Ah, the conversation stopper. Since Sara isn't with him I'm guessing it has something to do with her and I'm desperate to know what it is. He's come home for a reason whether it's to put his head on straight, figure out what to do next or just be here . . . It doesn't matter why he's here. What matters is that, as a mother, I have to know how to help my child and, if he won't tell me, I'm going to dig it out of him no matter what. Tonight is the night. I won't wait any longer.

But my tough as nails attitude comes to a grinding halt when I see him on the couch, eyes closed, tears streaming down his face and I fear that all the kittens are gone. I hurry to his side, quickly looking at the blanket in his lap to see bundles of fur squirming to find a more comfortable position, their legs tangled about each other, their bellies rounded with nourishment.

I touch his arm and his eyes fly open, embarrassment crosses his face as he wipes at his cheeks and I'm reminded of Gil as a child that summer day, tucked away in the back of his closet as the mortuary came for his father, too scared to move. I couldn't tell him then what had happened, couldn't tell him that he'd never see his father again so I said nothing. I just held him and together we sat in that closet and cried for everything we'd lost. He had that same look about him now. He was scared and this time . . . this time I wouldn't keep silent.

"Tell me," I said.

**Grissom**

Her hand on my arm startles me and I want to run and hide but isn't this the reason I came home? Isn't this what I need to get through, to put me back on track?

I suck in a ragged breath as she asks me to tell her, tell her what's wrong. There are so many things wrong. Where do I begin? The girl of my dreams is gone. I've apparently had a nervous breakdown. I don't know if I can do my job again. I want to jump off a cliff.

My mouth opens, then mumbles come forth as I find myself stammering to a stop before I can even start and clear my throat, fervently wishing I could turn into a puff of smoke and disappear. But such is not the way of things much to my despair. So I run a hand across my lips, clear my throat once more, and try again.

"How . . . how can someone throw away something so precious?" I ask staring down at the kittens, hoping to draw strength from these little ones clinging so to life.

I feel her hand move up and down my arm, much like Sara does when I'm upset, and try not to dwell on how much I miss that.

"Honey, tell me about Sara," is all she says. Straight to the point, my mom, and I find I can't refuse her anymore.

"She . . . she . . ." I stop and clench my jaw against the tremble that radiates out from deep inside. Take another breath. That'll help. It doesn't. "She left me."

I don't recognize my own voice for it's so small and fragile, not at all the confident one people have come to know. It doesn't surprise me like it should because I know I'm no longer the same person. Where I'm sitting is proof of that. I just wish it didn't hurt so bad.

"Why?" Mom asks.

I'm about to shrug because I don't really know why. Her own admission that she'd overreacted and was selfish doesn't carry the weight it did back in the store. That simply can't be the reason she'd crush me like a bug? Could it?

I shrug anyway. "She scared me and I yelled at her and it sort of steamrolled on from that," I admit, my hands shaking as I sign. "And she told me that she . . ." I stop myself and shake my head. "I couldn't find her; she wouldn't return my calls and I . . ."

My next thought makes me hesitate and my hands drop into my lap, not knowing what she'll say to what comes next.

"You what?" she asks, not letting me off the hook. I hate and love her for it all at once.

I look at her then, really look at her, and try to judge what my next words will do to her because it's so very hard to tell the woman who raised you that you aren't the person they thought you were; that you've succumbed to the baser notion of ending it all.

I felt like such a failure.

"Gil?"

"I . . . I broke."

I wait, wait for the look of pity or shame or discomfort to flit across her features and decimate whatever bit remains of my heart. But all I see is a slight wince; all I feel is her hand stop on my arm and hold on tighter. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I, uh, I asked a man to . . ."

But that's all that comes out. I find I can't say the actual words and look away, rubbing at my forehead. Those words sound even worse spoken then revisited in my head so I keep them to myself. It should all be kept to myself. I shouldn't burden her with . . .

"I know what happened in that store, Gil."

My eyes slam shut and my hand stills on my forehead, used now to hide from her instead of fruitlessly massaging away a building headache. Even though I knew she knew it hurts even more to have her admit it. I quickly raise my head.

"I have to . . . The kittens need to be fed," I say hoping to distract her as I fiddle with the dropper noting they're both sound asleep. My searching gaze falls on Hank. "I need to take him for a walk," I announce easing the kittens onto the side table and forcing myself to stand, her hand falling away.

"Why are the kittens so important to you?" she finally asks as I gather up Hank's leash and stop my hectic movements to rid myself of this conversation. She moves in front of me and tries to get me to look her in the eye. I can't. "Tell me why?"

I shake my head then step back and she waits, studiously watching me gather myself which hasn't been easy for awhile.

"I need to save them," I state, a bland statement that I know won't work with her.

"Why?"

"Because I . . . It wasn't right to . . ."

I stumble and falter. Words were always my refuge. Now they fail me. I should just stop; should walk from this room and this house and keep walking until I can't walk anymore or until these emotions stop beating at me and let me breathe. But I fear I may never stop walking.

"Gil . . ."

"They are living things that deserve a chance," I blurt out. "How can, can someone stuff them in a bag and drown them then walk away? How can they live with themselves after doing something like that?"

My voice is rising. I'm beginning to shake and now I can't seem to stop those illusive words.

"How can anyone just push aside someone because they cared? Walk away and quit everything and not listen to what they're telling them, what they're feeling? How could she not see how scared I was that she could've been killed, that I could've lost her to some murdering rapist all because she's too damn stubborn and pig-headed to see what it would do to me if she died."

I'm pacing now and on a roll.

"Did she want me to prove my love by letting it go, by not saying anything and then feeling guilty for the rest of my life when he killed her? Is that what she wanted me to do just watch, to-to stand by and do nothing? I love her, damnit! She's my life! She's all I'll ever want and she knows that yet she still left! Why the hell did she do that? Why did she walk away? Why did I let her in in the first place? Why didn't I just keep to myself, keep her at arm's length, push her away? Why did I do this to myself?"

Vaguely I'm aware of Hank becoming anxious but that's far away from me, along with the uneasy look on mom's face.

"I can't . . . I want it to stop! Despite popular belief I'm not a Goddamned machine with an off switch! I can't turn it off; can't get her out of my head! I can't think or sleep or eat without thinking of her! _She_ did this to me! _She_ made me love her! _She_ left me behind because I didn't want her dead! Damn her! Damn her for doing this to me! Damn her for being the only one I'll ever love! DAMN HER ALL TO HELL!"

The next thing I'm conscious of is that my hand is on fire; the painting of the lighthouse that has graced this wall for years now has a hole in it and is canted at an odd angle; I can hear Hank barking in the background and mom's dragging me back to the couch, plunking me down with a sharp 'stay there' before hurrying from the room.

My breath is quick. The past few minutes a blur.

Jesus, what have I done?

A lancing bit of pain crosses my knuckles and I glance down.

Shit, I think I broke my hand.

"Hold this," Mom says laying a hastily wrapped dishtowel filled with ice across my knuckles then kneels in front of me.

"I-I'm sorry . . . I don't know . . ." I hear come out of my mouth just before she grabs both sides of my face and forces me to look at her.

"Don't ever be sorry, honey, for feeling things."

"But I . . . You shouldn't . . ."

"People do stupid things to prove themselves when they're upset. You've done your share . . . like now," she says nodding toward my hand. "But you don't have to prove anything to anyone. Not to me. Not to Sara."

I swallow down the bile that magically appears in my throat and shake my head. "I need to prove to _myself_ that I'm . . . that I'm still worth something to someone and if the only way to do that is to save those kittens then I'll do whatever it takes to make it happen. At least I'll have that to hold onto."

She runs her fingers through my hair and I notice her eyes are glistening as she stares intently at me. I never meant to make her cry.

"_You_ are worth more to me than my own life," she says holding tightly to my face to make sure I'm listening. It's a tactic that's worked since I was a kid. "That will never change no matter what you say or do for as long as I live. Don't you _ever_ doubt that. Do you understand? Don't _ever_ doubt that."

I feel lightheaded as relief washes through me. She doesn't hate me for what I've done, for what I could've done. She loves me even though I'm a failure, even though I couldn't hold onto what I wanted the most. I quickly nod then grab her to my chest much as I'd grabbed Sara in the store and hold on for dear life, feeling her strong arms wrap about me, arms that have always given me strength.

"I love you, Mom," I manage.

"I love you, too, honey," she whispers back to me. "No matter what."

And that opens the floodgates . . . again. I'm just a big ball of hurt that can do nothing else but weep for my loss and it's not important to me that I'm a grown man crying on my mother's shoulder. All that's important is that this woman accepts me still even after I attempted to end it all because I was too weak to face this new life of mine.

She loves me no matter what.

She'll never know how much that means to me because I'll never be able to verbalize my gratitude into anything that would truly touch the surface of how I feel. So I cling to her and keep silent.

It seems the right thing to do . . . the only thing I can do . . . and everything I need.

* * *

_Well, there you have it. Mama Grissom - a tough cookie. I like her. I hope you liked this installment. Grissom just gets me carried away. Besides, I love writing him._

_My Beta (my mom, actually) made a comment of 'come on already, hurry this along' which got me to thinking that I might be dragging this out a bit. I hope none of you feel the same (but if you do please tell me). I have about 14 parts to Act 2 (we've just finished #10) planned then about 6 parts to Act 3 to tie everything up. (That may change based on your comments and my imagination. Ah, the fickle life of a writer.)_

_Also, I have some ideas for names for the kittens but was wondering if you could provide some along with the reason for the choice. I've not decided if they are both male or female or a mix but it doesn't really matter. It's the name and reason that counts._

_Thanks again for sticking with me. Next up is the Team - Warrick, Nick, Greg and Hodges. (Yes, Hodges.)_


	11. Chapter 11

_(I forgot to mention that the song Grissom is singing in the shower in Part 10 is called 'Happy' by Nevershoutnever)_

_Well, let me tell you that Nick gave me fits in this piece. Of course, it wasn't really him but me over thinking what I wanted to say, but when I finally settled into simple he came flowing out of my fingers and onto the paper. My beta (my mom) really loved this chapter. I hope you guys feel the same._

_Thanks for the continued support from Nancy1, Moonstarer, TessTureHeart, Moochiecat, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, mrsjorjafox, gsrfan34, spottedhorse, NickyStokes and was spratlurid quimby. _

* * *

**Part 11**

**Warrick**

I don't see a single star. It doesn't surprise me what with all the lights in town. I miss them sometimes, the stars. I used to lie on my back and count them when I was a kid thinking I _could_ count them all. I know how silly that is now. There are way too many to even comprehend let alone keep track of. But that didn't stop Grissom from dragging my ass out to the desert one night we were both off so we could try. He taught me more about the stars in that one night than I ever knew existed and I still thank him for taking the time to teach me something new.

Grissom. He's an enigmatic guy. His head is crammed full of so much stuff I don't know how he keeps things straight let alone remember quote after quote of everything from Shakespeare to Harry Potter. The man is . . . well, he's the best thing that ever happened to me, next to my Grandmother, and it pains me so to see him so low.

I tried to help. I let him know I was there if he needed to talk or to just sit and watch the stars. He gave me that smile – that half smile that doesn't reach much past his lips and never touches his eyes – then walked away to seclude himself in his office, a place he stays more and more since Sara left.

Shaking my head, I stuff hands in my pockets and lean against the chain link fence just out back of the morgue. My eyes fall on the bent trashcan a few feet from me and I look away. Sara's been back four days . . . four days of trying to still this anger I feel towards her, anger that came swiftly out of my mouth not long after she began her explanation of why she'd left. I know I have to temper this feeling if I'm to be expected to work with her, expected to overlook what she did to him.

I rub at my face and look up to the stars. I'd do anything for Grissom. I owe him, owe him big time - my career, my life and, despite how I feel, I need to focus on that. I need to rid myself of the scene in the breakroom that first night she was here. I can still hear Nick and Greg going on and on about how nice it was she was back; how they missed her and how nothing was the same when she was gone. But all that talk did to me was increase the size of the chip on my shoulder. I should've stayed away but in I went noting Hodges leaning uncomfortably against the counter with much the same look on his face as I had – slight disgust and a wariness associated with scenes like these. Sara caught my eye and tried to smile but it was forced. It didn't bode well for either of us.

"Ah, good, you're all here," she said moving her gaze from me to Hodges then back to Greg and Nick. "Catherine has graciously allowed me to come back to grave until Grissom . . . until he can get back on his feet. I'm glad to be back and I'm here for whatever you need. I'll do all the grunt work, decomps, anything to help."

It shocked me then when she mentioned Catherine. She was very protective of Grissom. Why would she give Sara back her job? Why . . ? And then it hit me. Grissom.

Grissom.

I shook my head and looked right at her. "Why are you here, Sara?" Her eyes shot to me and I saw her swallow a couple of times.

"What kind of a question is that, Rick?" Nick asked me. I turned to look at him.

"A valid question, Nick," I responded. "She high tailed it out on us without a backward glance. Now she's back." I looked back in her direction. "Why?"

I'll give her this. She fidgeted for a bit then met my hard gaze with one of her own. I've known Sara a long while. She's not one to back down if she's right about something nor apologize if she's wrong. That's one thing I've always liked about her.

"Because I know you need help."

"Is that the only reason?" I asked.

"Rick . . ."

I saw Sara touch Nick's arm and shake her head which stopped whatever else he was going to say.

"No," she answered looking directly at me. "I wanted to tell all of you the reason I left."

Her mouth was open but nothing else came out and she had a look about her. It looked like . . . It looked like shame. And I suddenly knew Hodges had been right. It _was_ her. _She_ was the one that walked, not Grissom. _She_ was the one that kicked everything out from under him and left him behind to implode.

"Oh, we all know it was Grissom, Sara," Greg said, pretty damn sure of himself. "You don't have to tell us."

Sara's head whipped around to center on him and his eyes grew wide at the look she flung him. I believe he even flinched.

"But you're wrong, Greg. You're so very wrong."

"I don't . . ."

"It was me, okay?" she finally said poking at her chest. "Me. I was the one who ran. I was the one who said awful things to him. Me, Greg, not him."

"Nah, that can't be right," Nick finally said with a slight grin. "He's always messin' with your head. Why do you do that? Take the blame for . . ."

"Weren't you listening, Nick?" she said, her harsh tone wiping that grin from his face. "It was me. Just me. I broke him. He was trying to protect me and I walked."

Silence fell around us, thick and unnatural. To hear her say those words, well, they just raised my pissed off meter into the red zone. I must've cursed loudly enough under my breath because she was looking at me again. I ran a hand over my face and across the back of my neck trying my damnedest to keep quiet.

"Say it, Warrick," she said and I drilled her with a look. "Just say it."

She asked for it. "Jesus, Sara, I can't believe you. I can't believe that you'd do that to him."

"Neither can I," I heard her say and that incensed me more than if she'd denied it.

"It hurt Grissom to think you didn't give a shit if he was scared for you. And he was. I've never seen him as upset as he was that night when you skipped out on Nick and me and returned to a goddamned crime scene without back-up. What's the matter with you? If you'd died, he would've died right along with you. Don't you know that? Don't you remember what he was like after Holly Gribbs? What I was like? It would've been the same thing."

"I never meant . . ."

"You never meant what?" I exclaimed. "To prove to everyone that you're super CSI capable of fending off a crazed perp with your smile and ability to say epithelial six times in a row? Oh, that would've stopped him."

"I was armed," she said lamely.

"And that's saved so many cops who were dumb enough to venture out alone. Your death isn't worth that scum that killed that girl. Don't you get it? Grissom doesn't care if other people die if the one he loves dies, too. And you flung it back in his face. Jesus, Sara, I thought you had more class than that."

"Now, Warrick, don't go . . ." Nick tried to defend her despite the look of mortification on his face.

"Don't give me 'now, Warrick'," I flung back, my anger turning on him now. "Catherine, Brass and I were the only ones that tried to help him. Even Hodges stepped up and provided some comfort. But you . . ." I shake my head. "You're an ungrateful bastard, Nick. That man saved your life and this is how you repay him? By barely being civil to him? By going around him to Catherine? By leaving him at a crime scene in the middle of a lightning storm? I'd a fired your ass the minute you stepped foot back in this lab. But he didn't did he? In fact he didn't say anything to you did he?"

"No," was all Nick said, his face scrunched up like he was in pain. Good. He deserved to feel like that.

"And what does that say about his state of mind? What does that say about you? You treated him like shit, man, and he didn't say nothing. Did you even notice that something was wrong with him? Or did you even consider that since you were too busy hating on him because you thought he'd done Sara wrong." I shook my head. "Man, I never thought of you as an arrogant piece of shit. I thought you had more class than that. And you, too, Greg," I threw in just to see him cringe. And then I knew I had to leave when I enjoyed it. "I'm outta here."

Turning around I left in a hurry, Grissom's words coming back to me about walking away before I did anything stupid. It was bad enough I had to walk through a gauntlet of staring eyes before I could escape outside and kick a convenient trashcan up against the fence. It wouldn't do to be arrested for decking a co-worker.

And that was four days ago. I spent an hour kicking that poor, defenseless trashcan then picking up the trash flung about the lot before I could go back inside and get to work. No one said a word to me. They just left me alone. And now as I look at that bent trashcan none of the anger is there. It's been replaced with sorrow for my friend

So I look back up to the night sky to try and recapture the joy I felt that night out in the desert, in being in the company of a man who's way smarter than me but doesn't treat me like he is. I've learned so much from him and hope I get the chance to tell him that. He's a great teacher and a good friend. I hope he can find his way back because when he does I'll be here for him.

**Nick**

I find myself rubbing my stomach . . . again. I've been doing that a lot since Sara set me straight about what went on between she and Grissom. I didn't believe her at first. Thought she was trying to make an excuse for him, something I've heard plenty of over the years. But she wasn't. It wasn't Grissom that caused her to leave. It was all her. A punch in the balls wouldn't have been more painful than to hear that and my stomach's been in knots ever since.

But here's the kicker. Because of my attitude, because of my _dismissive_ attitude toward Grissom I'll always wonder if that tipped him over the edge. I knew he was suffering. I knew it was bad, but that didn't stop me from accusing him of driving Sara away. It just fueled the fire and made me say and do things I'd never do. I was raised better than that. I went off and left him at a crime scene, for God's sake. I was his ride and I stranded him. He had to call a cab. A cab. Warrick was right. I should've been fired the minute he came back. Instead he went on as if nothing happened. I've seen him do that before. It just never occurred to me how much it probably hurt him, me leavin' him like that, until after Sara told us what really happened.

He's not some robot. The man has emotions. Just watch him react to abused or dead kids. It's an anger right under the surface that sometimes flares, but most of the time he internalizes it. He prefers to be in control. I guess maybe he's afraid if he lets loose . . . But that's how I treated him – like a robot. And I could see it in his face each time I mouthed off and he didn't say a word and I chose to ignore it, watching him get smaller each and every day and thought I hope it hurts like hell!

And then I saw the tape from the store. I watched him stand there and ask a stranger to kill him . . . and suddenly all I could think about was Grissom found me in that Plexiglas coffin; found me because of an ant. He was the one who calmed me down when I panicked, who kept me from blowing everyone up when they took the lid off and promised me everything would be all right. I believed him. I believed him with everything I had. And here I am today because of him. Here I am because he knew what I needed and gave it freely even after I came back after a month's leave.

It was my first week back. I was nervous as hell but tried to cover it up. My workload was light and I found myself with Grissom more than anyone else during those first days. We did paperwork, worked in the Lab and only went out to one call in a nice open parking lot with plenty of folks around.

Everyone was treatin' me like I was going to break which made everything worse because I couldn't very well tell them that that was exactly what I thought would happen at any second. But instead of breaking into a thousand pieces safely in my home I came unglued on Hodges when he failed to give me the results I was expecting on a trivial B&E. I lost it. Don't even remember what I said. All I can remember is the look on his face. He was scared and he should've been because at that moment I could've broken him in two. Then a strong hand landed on my shoulder and pulled me back. I spun, my fist already rising, when those blue eyes fixed on mine and I deflated like a balloon and ran from the room.

My God, I'd had every intention of cold cocking my boss over what? Nothing. Nothing at all. I'd done it now. I could kiss my career goodbye. Pulling off my ID then my gun, I laid them on Judy's desk then walked out the door, hearing her call after me. I couldn't very well face him again, or any of them, not after what I just did. I was drowning. I didn't know if I'd ever be the same.

Not looking up, I headed quickly for my truck only to stop short at a familiar voice coming out of the shadows. Grissom. I couldn't look at him; couldn't stand the thought that I'd disappointed him.

"Want to go get drunk?" he asked nonchalantly.

My head shot up. He wore an innocent look as if asking me to get drunk was an everyday occurrence.

"Grissom, I . . ." My stuttering my words trailed off.

"Me, too," he said with a nod. "Come on. I'll drive."

Stunned, I just stood there as he plucked the keys from my hand and motioned me toward the other side of my truck.

"Where shall we go?" he asked when I finally got the nerve to get inside. I just shrugged. "So we don't make fools of ourselves and take the chance of getting arrested, why don't we go to your house. Then you'll already be home when you pass out." I just stared at him. "Unless you'd rather get arrested?"

"I, ah, only have beer."

"Sounds fine to me." He smiled at me then and off we went.

I was confused to say the least, and waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for him to tell me to take another couple of weeks to work out the kinks; to decide whether or not I could still do the job, still take pleasure in solving puzzles. But that shoe didn't drop. Instead we drank beer, watched the end of a baseball game and just . . . hung out. It was oddly comforting. And it was me that started the conversation, the one where I told him I was drowning; that I didn't know how to get rid of the feelings of confinement that still racked me; that I thought about quitting. And that was only after two beers.

"Age wrinkles the body. Quitting wrinkles the soul. Douglas MacArthur," he said with a knowing look.

I gave him a small grin. "I thought you'd go for the falling off a horse quote."

"Nah. That's been used far too often," he grinned back then sobered a bit which didn't take much since he'd only had a half a beer. "Nick, I can't possibly know how you feel. I've never been trapped like that with my only known outlet being a bullet to the brain. I don't ever want to experience that. All I know is how strong you were, how strong you still are, and how proud I am of you that you had enough faith in yourself to endure and the patience for us to find you."

"_You_ found me, Gris."

"_We_ found you, Nicky. All of us," he corrected. "'Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.' Hilary 'Zig' Zagler, motivational speaker in case you're wondering."

"Do you remember everything?"

He shrugged. "It's a curse," he gave me with a straight face then grinned. "I have another one."

"Go for it," I said with a laugh.

"'If ever there is a tomorrow when we're not together there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you.'"

The smile fell from my face and I clamped shut my mouth trying to control my emotions. Finally mastering my quivering lips I tried to laugh it off. "I suppose that was Emerson or Thoreau."

"Nope," he said with a shake of his head. "Winnie the Pooh."

I laughed then and so did he and a bit of the cloud that had been hanging over me since I'd come back lifted a bit. It was a start for me, a new beginning so to speak and I never forgot it.

At least I never forgot it until Sara left.

How can I ever face him? How can he trust me again if all the evidence I had to base my reaction on was Sara walking out the door? I should resign but something keeps me here. Maybe it's penance for being shortsighted; for listening to my heart instead of my head, something he's tried to teach me all these years.

Grissom was blindsided, not only by Sara, but me as well and all I want to do is run to him and apologize even though I know it won't mean anything now. That opportunity was missed long before he walked into that store. When he needed me I was too busy being an ass to consider his feelings, merely worrying about my own. And no matter what Winnie the Pooh says, I'm not smarter than I think.

Warrick got it right. I am an ungrateful bastard.

**Greg**

"Here's your report," I quietly say trying not to let my disappointment creep into my words. I don't think I'm successful because I see her wince.

"Thanks, Greg," Sara says.

I know she's looking at me but I can't bring myself to look back. If I do she'll see the anger there along with my fear.

Quickly I leave and she doesn't follow. Good. I don't want to 'talk'. I'm tired of talking. I've already done enough of that to last a lifetime. But there is one person I'd talk to if he was here. Grissom. Man, I burned so many bridges there. Not only burned them but reduced them to a big black pile of ash – my charred remains of respect, acceptance and approval. All those things from him I desire above all else.

Grissom is, well, he's brilliant and he's already taught me so much, given me opportunities I never would've had. And what did I do when another one of those opportunities sprang up in front of my face? I blew it . . . big time. Nothing better than to accuse your mentor of pushing your best friend out the door only to find out it was the other way around then to sit and watch him deteriorate and smile thinking that's what he deserves. Not once . . . not once did I lift a finger to help him.

Not once.

And yet Grissom had been there for me.

I remember waking up in the hospital, not really sure what time it was, only aware of my aching back and how groggy I felt from all the pain meds they'd foisted off on me. And there was someone sitting there next to my bed reading. The dim light lit up his gray hair and I couldn't believe that Grissom was sitting there. I must've been dreaming for why would my Supervisor be sitting next to my bed? My bed. I'm a grunt. Nothing special.

Ah, drugs. It had to be the drugs. So I decided to take advantage of those lovely side effects because he was just a hallucination anyway.

"What'cha readin'?" I asked of him. He glanced my way and smiled holding up the book. I squinted then looked back at him. "Cowboy Poetry?"

"Yep."

"Seems a far cry from Elizabeth Barrett Browning."

"Sometimes, sometimes not. It speaks to me of everyday experiences, let's me make sense of an otherwise chaotic existence that Ms. Browning can't always do."

I gave him a bit of a smile. I'd never met anyone like Grissom who crossed the spectrum of knowledge.

"Your mom called," he said as he thumbed through his book. "Said their plane was landing at 1:00pm."

"What time is it now?"

"About 11:30am."

I nodded then my eyes opened wide and I looked as closely as I could at Grissom noticing the bags under his eyes, the tiredness that seemed to exude from him.

"You should be in bed, Grissom," I blurted out. "Shift was over like 3 hours ago."

"Yes it was."

"You don't have to sit with me. You need your sleep especially since the lab's a mess . . ."

"Greg, I want to be here," was all he said, eyes lingering on mine for a moment or two before shifting back to his book.

It was all so odd. Hallucination or not, Grissom shouldn't be here. But he didn't seem to have a care in the world even though I knew the Sheriff and Director had to be champing at the bit to ream him a new one.

"But what about Cavallo?" I asked. "He'll want to know where you are?"

He looked up at me again then rested a hand on my arm. "Don't worry about it, Greg. You're more important than the lab right now." Whoa. I am hallucinating. "Besides I want to speak to your family when they arrive and what better way to do that than sit with you?" he finished with a smile before looking back toward his book.

I nodded then couldn't help myself. "Read me something?" I asked wondering if he would. I might as well take advantage of this dream for as long as I can.

"You sure?" he asked once again thumbing through the pages.

"Always pays to learn something new," I gave him to which he grinned.

"Okay. This one is called Mornin' on the Desert. It was supposedly found written on the door of an old cabin in the desert."

"Probably an outhouse," I quipped drawing a raised brow from him. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"Mornin' on the desert, and the wind is blowin' free,

and it's ours, jest for the breathin', so let's fill up, you and me.

No more stuffy cities, where you have to pay to breathe,

Where the helpless human creatures move and throng and strive and seethe.

Mornin' on the desert, and the air is like a wine,  
And it seems like all creation has been made for me and mine.  
No house to stop my vision, save a neighbor's miles away,  
And a little 'dobe shanty that belongs to me and May.

Lonesome? Not a minute: Why I've got these mountains here,  
That was put here just to please me, with their blush and frown and cheer.  
They're waiting when the summer sun gets too sizzlin' hot,  
An' we jest go campin' in 'em with a pan and coffee pot.

Mornin' on the desert- I can smell the sagebrush smoke.  
I hate to see it burnin', but the land must sure be broke.  
Ain't it jest a pity that wherever man may live,  
He tears up so much that's beautiful that the good God has to give?

"Sagebrush ain't so pretty?" Well, all eyes don't see the same,  
have you ever seen the moonlight turn it to a silvery flame?  
An' that greasewood thicket yonder - well, it smells jest awful sweet,  
When the night wind has been shakin' it - for its smell is hard to beat.

Lonesome? Well, I guess not! I've been lonesome in a town.  
But I sure do love the desert with its stretches wide and brown.  
All day through the sagebrush here the wind is blowin' free.  
An' it's ours jest for the breathin', so let's fill up, you and me."

"So that's Cowboy Poetry," I said.

He chuckled then nodded. "That it is. Now, go to sleep."

I just wanted to hear more but my eyes betrayed me. My ears were still working when I heard him whisper to me 'everything will be okay, Greg.'

And it was, once my hands stopped shaking, once I stopped being afraid of loud noises and managed to get back into my old persona of a goof who played his music too loud and spiked his hair and tossed off things I thought were funny. Everything was back to normal until I became a first-class jerk, a person my Papa Olaf wouldn't recognize.

And I would give anything, anything to make things right.

I don't really want to believe that Hodges has more sympathy for Grissom than I do, more understanding of what the man was going through. That would make me . . . I don't know what that makes me. Something, something inhumane and definitely not a friend. That's not something I want to be known for. There's nothing good about that.

**Hodges**

I've learned over my many years that gloating normally turns people the wrong way. Not sure why but it usually does. I've learned this lesson by doing it many times. I've gotten a number of ear fulls and many evil eyes along with the single finger salute as Wendy calls it. I find that crass but sometimes, I guess, it's deserved.

So I've learned to master my gloating urges and dispense them at appropriate times. I'm highly intelligent and some people need to be reminded of such things. Some people, as in Stokes and Sanders.

I guess Gil thinks they're smart so who am I to argue with the man but I wonder about that especially when I watched as they tortured the poor man after Sara left. It was obvious to anyone who crawled out of the muck centuries ago that Gil was hurting and, yet, these two 'smart' individuals never gave him a moment's peace. I had my say with them and was told, in no uncertain terms, to shove my opinion up my . . . Well, I'm sure you know where. I can't say I appreciated that but decided if his own people wouldn't support him I would. I believe I managed to convey that support. He smiled, well, sort of smiled and I took that as a good sign when I told him I was there for him if he wanted to talk or something. It seemed like a start. He didn't take me up on it but I knew he knew I was there.

So it surprised me when he let that man hold a gun to his head when I was available. But, then, one never knows what they'll do when forced into re-evaluating their place on this earth. Why I remember a time when I stood on a precipice myself and wondered if I should step off or carry on. It was only my own grit that kept my feet on earth vowing to never again be forced to go shopping with my mother and her bridge friends. It may not sound world ending but take my word for it . . . it had the possibility of being so.

But that's not important. What _is_ important is that I was there that night, the night Sara spoke so harshly to Gil and left him a mess of tangled emotions and, after an initial three night silent treatment upon her return, brought it up to her on the fourth. It was late. She strode into Trace in not her usual confident stride but a more timid version – not at all like the Sara Sidle I'd come to know. It was like she was trying to fade into the walls, which is very difficult here what with all the glass. She explained what she needed then turned to leave. I couldn't seem to stop myself.

"I heard what you said," came out, much less strident than I'd intended. She stopped but didn't turn. "I heard what you said to Grissom." There, that sounded better.

She turned then and fixed me with a look. I rolled my shoulders and looked back.

"I told Stokes and Sanders but they didn't believe me. Said I'd always stick up for Grissom no matter what. But I was right. It was you that tore out the foundation under the man, leaving nothing left but a crumbling structure." I saw her flinch but pushed on. "I did what I could for him which, obviously, wasn't enough. But I was here. Why weren't you?"

I saw tears in her eyes and that sort of threw me and I backpedaled. I didn't know what else to do. Ask Wendy. I'm not very good when it comes to women, crying or not.

"I-I'm sorry," came out surprising me. "Once again I've stepped into somebody else's business. I just wish you could've seen what you did, what _they_ did to him. Maybe if you'd been here or if you'd even called it would've ended differently."

She was still silent and now I was uncomfortable and turned back to the evidence bag she'd given me.

Work. I'll work.

"I'll have this done as soon as possible," I tossed out thinking, once again, that this is why I'm still single. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt her hand on my shoulder. I stiffened. Was she going to hit me?

"Don't be sorry, Dave," she said. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for because you were here trying to help while I . . . I was being stupid. You are a far better friend than I ever was and I thank you for trying."

Struck silent, my mouth fell open. I only nodded then dared to cast a look her way when her hand slid away and she left the room. Looking back at the evidence bag then back out the door I was thinking I should feel smug but all I felt was sorrow.

Now, a few hours later, I still feel that sorrow. It's stayed with me longer than I expected, which is unnerving. I'd seek out Wendy but she's in the middle of something for Catherine and I don't really want to disturb her. Besides she might just raise her brows and shake her head. I don't want to see that tonight. All I really want is Grissom back. I want his insight, his knowledge, his calming presence. But who knows if we'll ever see him again. I don't think I can live with that nor do I really want to try.

Work. Stop thinking and work.

* * *

_I know that Grissom's love of cowboy poetry wasn't revealed to us or Nick until the S8 epi "Bull" but whose to say that Greg didn't know about it first. :-D_

_I know this is long but I couldn't very well impede the boys as they tried to get things off their chests. Besides I thought this might hold you over for a bit while I try to work out the next part which is barely halfway through the first draft stage._

_I hope you enjoyed this and stick with me as we journey through these perilous waters of emotional torture. Thanks for reading and reviewing._


	12. Chapter 12

_My apologies for this being later than usual but I had a week off of work and planned to write like the devil but I'm sure you know how plans go awry. But I'm back with Part 12 and more angst for the G man. Thanks go out to CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER (thanks for the awesome), mrsjorjafox, My Kate, Nicky Stokes, Moochiecat, spottedhorse, SevernSound, gsrfan34, was spratlund quimby, Moonstarer, TessTureHeart, buckit, MsRawkeye and Nancy1 (I'm using your idea in the next chapter if I can get it together - thanks!) Remember I'm always open to ideas and appreciate any that come my way and thanks for hanging in._

Onward ~

* * *

**Part 12**

**Annie**

I am a wicked, wicked woman.

It's 2:30pm and I'm rummaging through the attic for Gil's fishing gear. The last time I remember him using it was just before he left for college so it has to be here somewhere. Although I have high expectations that those painkillers are still doing their magic, I've been trying to keep quiet but who knows what type of echoing thunder is floating down through the floor boards. He was sound asleep when I started this little foray. Let it still be so.

Ah, that wasn't it. Sighing, I sit down on an old trunk filled with Lord knows what, my eyes drifting onto a painting, my first painting of a sunflower. My, that was a long time ago when I put paint to canvas. It doesn't look half bad. Maybe I'll use this one to replace the lighthouse painting in the den.

Shaking my head to rid it of Gil slamming his hand against the wall then becoming suddenly still doesn't work very well. He has a ton of emotions trapped inside and they had to go somewhere and, I guess, a wall is the safest place to let loose. Well, not so much for him. He broke the knuckle on the little finger of his right hand. When the doctor asked 'who did you punch' his response of 'a lighthouse' drew a confused look and no clarification. When the doctor looked at me I shrugged and gave him a 'that was a perfectly normal answer' grin. He didn't ask any more questions until it came time to cast. 'What color would you prefer' was met with Gil's 'I don't care' which gave me carte blanche. So now my boy is sporting a vivid blue cast to match his eyes although my reasoning to him was a bland 'in case I have to pick you out in a crowd.' Pretty sure he didn't believe me but, since he'd already taken on a wall, he didn't have much left in the tank to take me on as well.

A promised malt, two painkillers and a quiet ride home left him to silently and purposely climb the stairs to bed. I followed after thinking he looked so forlorn all tucked up under the blankets like a lost puppy. I brushed his hair from his forehead, gave him a quick kiss, patted Hank's head and checked on the kittens before tiptoeing out, leaving the door ajar. Heading to bed, I picked up my book then promptly set it down debating what I should do next. That thought still reigned supreme as I opened my eyes to a new day with absolutely no idea of how to help him regain his footing. It took me years to get back on my own feet after Daniel died. But that was different. He was gone, never to return. Sara was out there, no doubt licking her own wounds and wishing for Gil to come home and all he had to do was take that first step - the hardest thing anyone can do but the easiest to leave behind once you start moving forward.

As I came down the hall I noticed Gil's door open wide and peeked inside. His bed was empty and Hank was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they'd gone for a walk. But then I noticed the kittens were gone, too. He wouldn't take them unless . . . My eyes played over the room and landed on his bag. Good. That was good.

Pulling my robe closer about me, I hurried down the stairs casting a glance about the living room then into the kitchen. No sign. The den was empty as well. Looking out the kitchen window I could see his car where it should be. That only left the backyard. Peering out the curtains, my racing heart began to slow as I watched Gil sit carefully on one of the lounge chairs, nestling the kittens in his lap. He was fumbling with a length of rope, trying to put another knot in it while Hank bounced up and down next to him. With his left hand, he tossed it awkwardly into the air, the boxer catching it and bringing it quickly back. As he tossed it again, I saw Gil smile, the expression lighting up his face. I hadn't seen that smile since he'd been here and it gave me a bit of hope, the kind to cling to when things go dark.

Turning back to the kitchen I put a pot of coffee on then ran upstairs to get dressed. Making sure he was still out there, I poured two cups then made my way out the back door, Hank vaulting towards me as soon as I approached only to be distracted as Gil tossed the rope again.

"Thanks," he signed taking one of the cups. I sat down in another chair to watch the antics of the boxer.

"He makes you smile," I said feeling his eyes on me. "That's a good thing." I looked at him only to see him frown.

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

I touched his arm. "No need, honey."

"I know I scared you. Scared myself. I just . . . I just want to yank out everything and make it all go away." I watched him rub at his face after those words then toss the rope out again. "I wish I didn't love her so much."

My hand found his shoulder and squeezed gently. "Do you really wish that?" I asked.

He shrugged then sighed. "I don't know. I can't believe after everything I can still feel that at all. Seems kind of desperate, like I'm clinging to a false sense of the possible. Why, I don't know. I guess I'm just a coward. Don't really want to face up to what's staring me in the face."

"And that is?"

He looked off into the garden then turned back to me.

"She said some things to me in the store, things that should've pieced back together what was left of me, should've made me feel whole again and it did for a time. But . . ." He shook his head. "I guess it was just the timing. I needed to hear those things long before someone put a gun in my face. It all seemed clichéd as if she was fitting it in to what was going on around us instead of from the heart. I don't know if I can believe her words anymore. They come so easily when I'm in jeopardy but not when I'm standing in front of her or waiting for her to call. How do I know that that won't happen again? That when I need her she won't be there? How can I trust her love if she can take it away so easily?"

I didn't know how to answer him because anything I'd say would be just as clichéd as what he perceived Sara's words to be. It would be a band aid to tie him over until his brain caught up with his heart and helped him ferret out the answers he sought.

Hank came up to me then and dropped the rope at my feet. I smiled at him and tossed it as far as I could, laughing at his near flip trying to catch it.

"He's a good boy, Gil," I said. "And he loves you dearly."

"Yeah," was all he said.

"Have you decided on names for the kittens yet? Once their eyes open they'll need to know who they are," I signed with a smile.

He looked down at the two little ones in his lap then gave me a small grin. "No. I've a long list though. Castor and Pollux, Romulus and Remus . . ."

"Hi and Lois," I supplied making him grimace. "What? I named Hank."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, how was I to know that wasn't a good name. He looks just like your Uncle Henry. Acts like him, too. I can't help if it stuck."

He was smirking, then began to laugh, leaning back his head and wiping at his eyes. Even though I couldn't hear it it made me feel better.

We sat there for a good hour until I had to get going. Errands to run, shopping to do. I made him promise not to hit anything else and to make sure he took his painkillers if it got too bad. By the time I returned a few hours later, I found him pale and sweating in the same chair in the back yard. Deciding to save my chastising for when he felt better, I dragged him upstairs, gave him his pills and put him to bed.

As I stood watching him sleep, thinking about all the times when he was growing up that I fretted so about bullies at school, about what my deafness was doing to him, about his odd interest in dead things, that it suddenly came to me. Gil needed a man to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge him and I knew the perfect man for the job.I brightened immediately. I should've felt some sort of shame but all I felt was giddiness at my daring as I sprinted across the street with my latest idea burning a hole in my brain. I was pretty sure my friend, Paul Jeffries, would go along with it (he and I have known each other for years), but you never know until you ask. So with barely a blip of hesitation I knocked on his door and waited impatiently for him to answer. The look on his face as he pulled open the door was priceless along with the words that followed.

"What's the matter? Are you all right? Is Gil all right? Is it the kittens?" he signed. I smiled at him then chuckled. "Sorry. It's just . . . well, I saw you running across the street. You hardly ever run."

"I want to ask you a question," I said deciding this conversation needed to be spoken not signed. He waited for a moment then his brows flew up his forehead.

"Oh, Lordy. Dory would have my hide making you stand on the porch. Get in here, Annie."

He pointed me to the living room then asked if I wanted something to drink and I quickly motioned him to sit down. As he did so, I noticed a light dancing in his eyes. He knows me better than I do myself.

Paul has always looked out for me. After Daniel died, he and Dory made me a member of their family – always including me in dinners and birthdays, taking care of things around the house, making my life easier. So when Dory passed, I could do nothing but lend a hand to my dear friend who was a mess. With the help of his children, myself and friends, he finally returned to the man I'd known for many years. Now, he is my closest friend and confidante. Sometimes I'd like there to be more but he's still in love with his wife. Some things are just meant to be like that. But while I know he's unattainable I also know he has a wicked streak a mile wide, just like me, and, on more than one occasion has seen fit to throw in with me. I was hoping this would be one of those times.

"I have a favor to ask."

"I'll do it," he answered with a sly grin, eyes twinkling.

I chuckled again and shook my head. "It would be prudent to wait until you know what the favor is before committing yourself. It could be something dastardly."

"Oh, I hope so," he responded. I laughed outright at that. "Ah, come on. The suspense is killing me."

"You are bad." I laughed when he motioned me with his hands to hurry up. "Okay. I want you to take Gil fishing."

He was expectantly waiting for something else, I could tell by the raising of the brows, the leaning forward so as not miss a single word. So when nothing extraordinary followed his face fell.

"Fishing?"

"Yeah."

He frowned. "No police action? No stealing a car? No mooning the neighbors?" I remained silent, well, except for my laughing. "Fishing?"

"Yes. I want you to take Gil fishing. He needs to get out of the house and he won't do so voluntarily. You saw how I had to drag him to the hospital last night."

"He's that bad, huh?"

I nodded. "He's hurting. He thinks things won't get better, but you and I both know it will. He just needs . . . I don't know."

"A man to talk to?" he offered and I nodded again.

"I think so. Although Gil's never been much of a talker so it won't be easy. But he knows you, Paul. He's always spoken so highly of your help in the past."

"He was a kid then, Annie. Just lost his dad."

"But you were there and for so many times after. I know he corresponded with you when he was in college."

"That's true. And I do hear from him now and again. I've been wanting to find out more about this Sara but I'm guessing that's off-topic."

"That would not be good unless, of course, he brings it up." I reached over and grasped his hand. "Will you do it? Will you take my boy fishing?"

A slow grin appeared and he turned his hand to grab mine. "Tell him to be ready by 4:00 am."

"Actually I'm planning on springing this on him at the last minute."

"So he's going to be grumbly?"

"That pretty much describes him in the morning of late."

"And here I thought this was going to be easy." He slapped his knee. "Well, I've always liked a challenge. I'm in."

"Thank you, Paul," I said, my heart lifting a bit as I hurried home.

And now I sit in the attic with no fishing gear in sight and wonder if I've made a huge mistake. I can hear him now. 'I'm a grown man and can make my own decisions' to which I would reply 'all true, but you're still going fishing'. I grin at myself. The audacity I feel at this moment will surely evaporate when he gives me that look but I've faced down bigger fish. (No pun intended, of course.) My big, blue eyed boy will still do as his mother says, especially if I don't actually say anything and just stare at him.

Oh, what's that?

Aha! I found it. My scheme will work! I'm sure of it!

**Paul Jeffries**** - The next morning**

I'll never forget the look on Gil's face as Annie dragged him out the front door toward my truck – pure, unadulterated dread. If I didn't know where we were headed I would've assumed he was going to a hanging.

His own.

Here is an accomplished man – a forensic entomologist, a highly regarded CSI, lecturer, writer, and scientist who's faced down judges, criminals and really big bugs – coming apart at the seams because of something as simple as love. Let me correct myself. Love is not simple. It is, without question, the most complex, extraordinary thing on this planet that can save you in a second and destroy you just as fast. I know. I've faced both ends of the spectrum and suffered with each. So I do not judge a man who's reeling in the throes of the push me-pull you of this highly volatile emotion. I merely stand by and offer what I can. Sometimes it works and sometimes . . .

I'm not too sure what, if any, success I may have with Gil. He's always been a tough nut to crack even when he was younger. Having lost his father so young he had to step up and become the 'man of the house' at the tender age of nine. That'll bind you up for a long time and have repercussions throughout your life. But I know he's a good man, a strong man, and a day spent on the pier, wasting hours lollygagging, telling tall tales and lying in wait for some poor fish to grab onto your hook will do him a world of good. Fishing is good for the soul. It can teach you many things.

Hank is the first one in as Annie opens the passenger door. She winks at me then backs up to allow me a direct shot to her reluctant son. Before I can say a word Hank barks at Gil and I laugh. Can't help it. It sounded like 'come on, Dad, let's go!' I watch him sigh then slowly make his way inside, tug at his Chicago Cubs baseball cap so it fits low over his eyes and belt himself in.

"You boys have a good time now," Annie says leaning in to kiss Gil on the cheek. He signs a goodbye and I wave and off we go.

Now it's true, you know, that silence can be deafening. I've experienced it firsthand and am doing so right now but I understand. There's nothing worse than your mom treating you like a kid when you're in your hovering around 50 but every mom does that. Every _good_ mom does that when she feels the need to protect. And, boy is this one in need of protection. From himself, mostly. Oh, well, here goes.

"It's come to my attention," I begin, "that you still hold the record for the most perch caught off Venice pier in the space of an hour. It was 23 wasn't it?"

"33," he says. Ah, victory. I got him to talk.

I whistle. "33. They must've been running thick that day. My top number is 18. Never made it past that. Can't eat them anymore what with all the crap in the water but they're still fun to catch. Makes you feel like you've accomplished something when you bait the hook, set it out there and they take it. Must be what it feels like to win a horse race. Crossing the finish line first, hearing the crowd cheer. Gets your blood boiling."

Nothing. Time for a different topic.

"So, you still playing poker?"

He looks out the window and I wait a bit. "Not much anymore," he finally answers. "Once in awhile to brush up on my people watching."

"People watching?" I ask and glance at him. He keeps his eyes focused out the window.

"People have tells," he says, "things that give them away. A good poker face can earn you millions or let you get away with murder."

"Ah," I say quickly looking away as he turns to me. Don't want him knowing I'm staring at him but I can feel his eyes on me now.

"Like I know that mom asked you to take me fishing."

"Oh, ah . . ."

"And the fact that you've always been very helpful to me when I needed it, especially after dad died and, even though mom is doing her best, she doesn't feel as if she's connecting all the dots. She thinks a father figure might be more suitable."

The boy's smart.

"And?" I ask glancing at him. He gives me a bit of a smirk then looks away.

"She might be right."

I can't help but feel a smile coming on at that confession. Gil's always been special to me and I've always considered him a part of my family especially when he took my son, Fredric, in hand that one summer and straightened him out before he became lost like so many other kids. My daughter, Emma, adored him but he had his sights set on a higher education and off he went. He always called during the holidays, always checked in, and he'll always have a place in my heart. So to hear him call me a father figure . . . well, that made me gleam with pride.

Did you hear that, Dory? I'm sure you did.

The rest of the drive was a better silence as Hank clambered over Gil to stick his head out the window and I could see the tender affection he had for his dog. It was good he had something that loved him unconditionally (besides Annie, of course) for in times like these sometimes that's all you have to keep you anchored.

Parking, we gather our gear and amble onto the pier, Hank about to split a gut he's so happy. And amble is the correct word what with his awkward gait and the hitch in my get-along, we are a sight. I ask and he points out where he stood to get those 33 perch and we quickly take our places fending off a rather large man in a bright orange raincoat who sullenly walks a few paces down.

"That's why I wanted to get here early," I whisper to him. "If you mark your place before the regulars get here they can't boot you out. Well, not without drawing attention to themselves."

"Sneaky man."

I grin at him. "So, shall we bet on the outcome or just see what happens?"

"I'd rather wing it," he answers and I chuckle.

"Sounds good to me."

We bait our hooks and send them out, nodding to each new fisherman that stands next to us watching as we reel in perch after perch while they get nothing. Next thing we know they've set upon us wanting to know what kind of bait we're using, is it four pound or 6 pound test, that's gotta be a special hook. By the time we're ready to pack up we're alone again except for a few lingerers who've moved away to try our tried and true technique which consists of baiting the hook and tossing it out. End of technique.

"So how many did we catch?" I ask Gil as he cuts off his hook and stows it in his tackle box, tying off the line.

"I thought we weren't keeping count?"

"I know you, Gil. Of course you were keeping count. Spill."

He smirks. "You caught 25."

"And you?"

"26."

"Damn. It was that one that fell off wasn't it."

"'fraid so," he says and I can see he's grinning. It's been coming easier as the morning progressed.

"How about we take Hank for a walk then I'll take you to a late breakfast or brunch depending on when we stop. What do you say?"

"Sounds good."

I nod then hurry to pack my own supplies. "By the way, that color looks good on you," I say, pointing to his cast.

He sighs. "Stop already. I've been hearing that all morning."

"Bet I could find you quick if you fell in the water. Nice and bright . . ."

"Paul."

"It's what I do, Gil. Search and rescue."

"_Wildlife_ search and rescue. Since when have I become wildlife?"

"Be it man or beast, it is wildlife, and I've taken an oath to protect it." I thought I gave that a fairly dramatic tone. It just made him wince.

We dump our gear in the truck and head back toward the beach, once again silence drops about us as we move along the sand, Hank pulling at the leash until Gil unhooks him. He bounds into the surf then circles around us twice before he's off again.

"Great. Wet dog," Gil says.

"Wet and sandy. Annie will love that."

The breeze is light and the temperature comfortable. It's still too early for most sunbathers but there are a few braving the morning weather. All for a tan. I'll never understand that.

I catch Gil glancing at me then away. He looks like he wants to say something but the words won't come. I'm a patient man. He heaves another sigh and I wait. It doesn't take long.

"May I ask you a question?" he finally asks me.

"Of course."

He opens his mouth then stops, thinks it over and tries again only to stop again.

"Ask me anything, Gil. If it bothers me I'll tell you."

This boy sure thinks a lot. I can see the wheels spinning.

"Did you . . . Did the trust you had in Dory ever fail?"

It's a quiet question, but the meaning is powerful and I will not shirk my duty to Annie or Gil. He deserves whatever truth I can give him even if it hurts.

"Never. She was my light from the moment we met until the day I lost her."

"Oh."

I watch him sort of cave in on himself but know things have to be brought up.

"Have you lost trust in someone? In Sara?"

He cringes at that bald statement. I'm not an unfeeling person but this is why Annie wanted him to come today. I'm not letting this opportunity pass.

"Gil?"

"I . . . I don't feel that . . . I'm not sure . . ." His voice is soft and I have to strain to hear it watching the effort it's taking for him to admit that even in its stunted form.

"Why?"

He stops walking and sticks hands in his pockets, his eyes tracking Hank. I know how hard it is for him to explain, to voice what's eating at him. I know it took him a long time to take a chance with her. He feels raw, exposed, vulnerable and now he's worried that speaking aloud will set it in concrete. I won't let him run from this if I can help it. But I won't push either. No, pushing Gil won't work anymore than it does with me.

Patience, Paul. Patience.

"I always figured she'd leave someday," he admits with a sad grin breaking the stillness about us. "I just assumed she'd do it softly, pull away slowly until she simply wasn't there. I never expected . . . I never thought she'd pull the rug out from under me and throw away all that we had like it didn't matter. I thought I knew her better than that." He paused a moment. "I trusted her with my heart."

"It's still there, you know. You're heart. I can tell by how much you're suffering." I watch him fidget with his cast before looking back out at the waves. "It's okay to feel that way, Gil. Trust is difficult to achieve but once broken is hard to regain."

"I want to give her another chance but . . . I keep hearing her words, seeing her walk away and it burns me inside."

"Do you still love her?"

Slowly, he nods. "I do even though I don't want to. I can't seem to stop."

"So she's the one?"

"I always thought so but now . . ."

"There is no but, Gil. Is she the one that completes your sentences, your thoughts? The one that lights up your eyes and everything else every time you see her or hear her voice? The one that is the reason you keep breathing."

He looks down toward the sand. "Yes," comes his soft reply.

"There's your answer."

"It's not that simple, Paul."

"It's as simple or as hard as you make it."

He looks back at me then. "She left me, Paul. Who's to say she won't do it again?"

"Who's to say that tomorrow will come?"

Anger flits across his face. "She walked out on me because I was scared she could've been hurt. _That_ is a stupid reason to rip out somebody's heart. And you can see how I'm not handling it very well." His tone is clipped as he holds up his casted arm. "I don't have to push my imagination very far to know how I'll handle it next time."

"So you'll close yourself off and excise her from your memory is that it?" All he does is nod. "It won't work, Gil. Take it from someone who knows." I can't look at him and turn back to the water. "Have you ever wondered why I changed jobs so abruptly?"

"It wasn't my place to ask," he says.

"You're too polite, Gil, so I'll simply tell you. I never lost trust in Dory, that is true, but I did lose trust in God. That's why I'm no longer a minister."

His head snapped around so fast I thought it might fall off. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't be so shocked. You must've figured it out way before now."

"I assumed it had something to do with Dory."

"It did. I gave Him the better part of my life and He gave me Dory. Then He took her away. The cancer took her quick. I was thankful for that. But I could never be thankful for Him taking her in the first place. Her place was here. I needed her more than He did and begged Him to let her stay. As you can see she's not here. My trust was broken and I never got it back."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. For years I'd been telling people about the compassion of our God; to take his hand when offered and you will know nothing but peace. I never saw that hand nor knew peace. I had a breakdown. Scared the kids and myself and, when I got better, I decided I wanted to do something else with whatever remained of my life because it was now _my_ life and not His. Emmy introduced me to The Wildlife Foundation and I never looked back. I'd found another purpose that didn't rely on blind trust but on my own instincts and the need to help. I didn't have to worry about being that disappointed again. And, if I am, it's my fault and no one else's.

"But even though I say I've not made my peace with God I find myself offering a helping hand in any way I can. I'm still doing His work it just has my name attached to it." I look at him then and grab his arm. "You can choose to never see Sara again but she will always be in your heart until your last breath leaves your body. It's up to you whether or not you want to only enjoy the memory before everything went sour or enjoy her in your arms, a living breathing reminder that you are loved. I believe the sentiment is you're in the cat bird seat, my friend. You hold all the cards. The decision is yours, not hers, not anymore."

"What if I take her back and it happens again?" he asks.

"'Fear is static that prevents you from hearing yourself'. I know. Fear consumed me when Dory died. I rolled up in a ball and nearly disappeared. My God couldn't save me. My kids did and the fear slowly let me go and I learned how to breathe again. But I was never able to forgive. Not completely. And that's why I've never fully recovered from my break with God and I probably never will. You, on the other hand, _need_ to do that. Forgive, Sara. It will lead to wonderful things."

"But I have forgiven her. I forgave her the minute she held me in that store," he tells me before looking away.

"Then why are you here?"

He's silent for a moment and I can see his hand turning into a fist. "Because I asked a man to shoot me. Because I've lost the respect of my colleagues. Because the faith I had in myself is gone. Because I'm no longer certain I can do my job or if I even want to!"

Ah, so it's not all about Sara.

Turning from me, he runs a hand through his hair then down his face. I notice Hank come quickly to his side and lean against his leg. Gil kneels down and gives him a hug telling him it's all right. I lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Have you had any painkillers today?" I ask, the question making him glance up with a questioning look.

"No. I'm putting it off as long as I can since they knock me out."

"Good. Let's go get drunk."

His face scrunches up and he looks as if I've asked him to castrate himself.

"It's 8:30 in the morning, Paul," he states quite emphatically.

I look up at the morning sun then smile back at him. "An early start should get us well and truly drunk by noon."

He frowns and turns back to Hank, quietly clips the leash to his collar then stands. I hear a slight chuckle as he shakes his head then turns back to me, a slow grin forming.

"Mom will be disappointed in us if we stumbled through her door while the sun's barely halfway up the sky."

"Well, the choice is clear, my friend. We either stay out until the sun is on its way to the other side of the world or stumble into _my_ house where she'll never be the wiser."

He laughs this time and it's good to hear. "What the hell. Lead on, MacDuff," he says with a grand bow.

"Shame on you. It's 'lay on, MacDuff'," I admonish, surprised at his misquote.

Gil wraps his casted arm about my shoulder and starts us walking back to my truck. "'Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, MacDuff, and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'.'" I nod with approval. "Is that better?"

"Much better," I tell him. Much better indeed.

* * *

_Well, there you have it. It seems as though G is feeling a bit better thanks to Paul. Let's hope it continues. Dad and I used to go fishing a lot and it was great fun being out on the water, hauling in bonita and feasting upon it when we got home. I even won a few pots (which didn't sit very well with the men on board being that I was just a 'girl').  
_

_Part 13 will be back in Vegas and I'm forewarning you that the basic outline of the section isn't even complete so it may take me a bit longer. (Or I may have a brilliant idea, or one of you may provide it, and I finish it quickly. Who can tell?) So I thank all of you ahead of time for staying the course. Have a great 4th of July for those in the states in case I don't post until after the fact. :-D_


	13. Chapter 13

_I apologize for the extreme lateness of this part. I even offer the reasons, in specific order of occurrence. We'll just do it in a countdown style._

_6. __Writer's block__. The good old fashioned kind where you write and it stinks, you change it and it's worse until, finally, you turn off your computer and go watch TV._

_5. __Mom's retirement__. I was helping put on mom's retirement party and that consumed me to the detriment of my story. (She had a great time!) Apparently I can multitask like mad at work but not in my writing.  
_

_4. __Work office moved__. They moved me from downstairs to upstairs and that shouldn't seem like a big deal but I've been discombobulated all week. (I knew things were looking up when I actually thought of some dialogue for Brass.)_

_3. __Computer crashed__. Big time! Took out my "C" drive and left me hanging with nothing. The Geek Squad at Best Buy are butt savers! (Fortunately, all of my stuff is on external hard drives so I should be safe right?)_

_2. __Hard drive wiped__. So I get my computer back (complete with a Windows 7 upgrade) and hook up my drive with all my stories and I get 'file is empty'. (Fortunately, I'd copied all my story files to a thumb drive in May and I'm working on this current story mostly at work, so hazzah! I'm saved!) After my freak out dad said 'I heard that nothing can be erased from a hard drive.' (I've heard that, too.) So you know where I'm going._

_1. __Back on line__. Those Geek Squad guys are keepers. It seems that my files were 'hidden' and they managed to resurrect all my stuff. (I offered to hug and kiss the guy and he, politely, refused.)_

_So, that's my long sad sob story. Now after all that I want to thank Nancy1 for providing me with a plot point that I took in another direction although I'm still contemplating using it as you stated further down the line; thanks to My Kate for the EMail regarding GSRForeverOnline FanFiction Awards and this story, and thanks to all my faithful reviewers who keep me going. You're the best!_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 13 **

**Brass**

"What's got you all smiles there, Jim?" Nick asks of me as I stop mid-stride in my search for Catherine.

I hesitate to answer but then realize the message I have is meant for everyone. "Can you gather the troops in Grissom's office? I have news."

"Sure thing," he says and hurries off.

It's been a sorry state of affairs since Gil left and there's nothing worse than a slow night. Ah, I don't mean I want people to get killed it's just . . . well, when they do it keeps us busy, keeps _me_ busy so I don't have to think about what may never come. Gil may never come back. I've thought of what I'd do if that happened. Flickering images of me sending him a note, an Email maybe inquiring if he was up for a visit. When he says no or doesn't respond at all that's when I'd mysteriously show up on his mom's doorstep and ask politely if I could come in. I see it all in my head - the taking of a seat in Annie's house, the quiet discussion, me clapping handcuffs on him and pushing him into my rented car, waving goodbye to Annie and getting him on a plane, all the while assuring the stewardesses that Gil's not violent just confused. It makes me smile, those thoughts, then I sober up, take a nap and realize I'd never do anything like that to him. He is who he is and he deals with things as only he can. Me, I'd slip into a bottle and not come out for a decade or so. But him . . . He has to think on things, ruminate until he's studied the problem from every angle. It could take weeks, months, years even to come to some conclusion and by then the world has turned on its axis and got on with things.

But those were my thoughts yesterday. Today I hold in my hands some sense of hope, even though it's very small, that things will be better eventually. And, for right now, I'll take all I can get no matter how small.

"Hey, Catherine," I say ducking my head into Gil's office and knocking on the doorframe.

"Hey, Jim. What's up?" she asks as I saunter in and sit down across from her.

"Crime and my blood pressure. You?"

She smiles. "Ditto. I now have a full understanding of why Gil hates this part of the job. Paperwork has become the bane of my existence."

I chuckle. "I always liked it when he'd stop and look at his desk, mention that someone probably needed his help and hightailed it out of Dodge, sidestepping Ecklie's rants on his way out the door. It was fun to watch."

She looks up at me then, a frown on her face. "Will we see it again, Jim?" she asks and I so want to say a resounding YES, but I'm as in the dark as she is.

"I sincerely hope so. No offense but this place has lost its sparkle. I can't count on any of you to provide me with a quote or a pun or even that narrowing of the eyes he did so well to get me through the night."

She rubs at her brow. "Well, it's not like I haven't tried. I just don't have the knack for dispensing words of wisdom beyond don't forget the spatter under the counter." I chuckle again as she slowly shakes her head. "I thought he'd call by now or at least send us an Email."

I smile then and pull out the folded papers from my jacket pocket. "Well, I have the next best thing." It was a joy to see a smile light up her face but before I could share, Nick and Greg came bounding in.

"We're here," Nick says, Greg on his heels and no one else.

I glance around them. "Where's Warrick and Sara?" I ask noticing how uncomfortable they suddenly look.

"Warrick's on a call," Greg supplies a bit too quickly.

My gaze drifts to Nick. "And Sara?" I push not liking where I think this is going.

He shrugs. "I guess she's in Trace. That's where I saw her last," Nick answers and I glower.

"I said everyone, Nick."

Again with the shrug and I look toward Catherine who does the same thing and a flash of anger erupts within me. My good mood has gone down the crapper in an instant. I truly can't stand it anymore and decide these three don't deserve to know what I was going to share. Instead they're going to get a piece of my mind.

"Shut the door, Greg," I say slowly rising from my chair, carefully putting the folded papers back into my jacket pocket.

"Jim," comes Catherine's warning voice and I turn to look at her.

"Not any more, Catherine. This has gone too far and I'm going to stop it since I don't see you taking the lead." I hold her gaze and wait for the verbal abuse I'm about to get but, instead, she looks a bit ashamed and gives me a nod.

I turn back to these 'adults' and glare at them like I would a perp and take comfort in watching them squirm.

"You guys take the cake, you know. You used to be a team. You used to back each other up and now you're just a bunch of kids on the playground kicking sand in the little guy's face. It's disgusting. Grissom would be so disappointed in both of you." They hang their heads but it doesn't stop me. "You need to put this right and you need to do it now."

"What do you want us to do?" Nick whines. "We can't get a hold of Grissom."

"I'm not talking about Grissom." They both look lost and I'm pretty sure my words were clear enough. "I'm talking about Sara." I can see the lightbulb now. "You remember Sara don't you? Your friend. Your confidant. The one you thought had been shit on so in your own chivalrous way decided to defend her. Does any of this ring a bell? Does it?"

"Yes," Nick says in a quiet voice while Greg merely nods, neither of them looking at me.

"Well, let me tell you both something. What you did to Grissom was despicable. No matter how you felt, you don't treat another human being like trash just to make yourselves feel better. But, right now, he's out of the picture and you'll have to stew many a night before you figure out how to fix it with him. But in this building is a person who you claimed as a friend many years ago who is hurting so badly that she barely speaks to anyone, who never smiles anymore and is stuck here waiting to find out what her future holds.

"And you have no right to be angry with her. What she did she did _to_ Grissom and Grissom alone. None of this was done to either of you but _you_ took it upon yourself to decide what happened. _You_ jumped right over the evidence and decided who was to blame. Only you had the wrong guy and you're embarrassed because you assumed it was him and ran with it. Now, because you can't get to Grissom you take it all out on Sara because she's convenient."

I stop myself for a second to catch my breath and try to calm myself. I'm really, really ticked at them and this is when I should take my leave before I start throwing punches but I still have a few things to say.

"If I was Sara I would never speak to either of you again because this isn't how you treat a friend. In fact, I'm reconsidering if _I_ want to be your friends after all of this. Now grow a pair and go apologize to Sara. And mean it! She deserves that much because what she did to Grissom is tearing her apart and she doesn't need a couple of jackasses treating her like a leper because _they_ screwed up. You both make me sick."

With that I left, slamming the door behind me and walking fast down the hall and out into the cool air of a very dark night wondering why I even bother to get so riled. It just makes me cranky. Well, crankier than normal. As soon as I calm down I'll search out Sara and share my news. It's mostly meant for her anyway.

"Ah, crap," I mutter as my phone goes off. With a sigh I pull it from my belt and glance at the screen.

A 429. Indecent exposure. No doubt a drunk in a raincoat. Good. No CSI in sight.

**Sara** **- **_**The next morning**_

Have you ever noticed when it's hot that's all that crowds your brain, all you can think about until relief comes your way? Lately I hadn't really been noticing the weather at all because all I noticed was Gil – how he walked, how he smiled, how his hands felt on my skin, how he made me feel when he cast those glorious blue eyes my way. That was my relief from the weather, from the job.

But now where once he stood in my thoughts, I stand alone waving a stack of papers over my heated skin in hopes of cooling off. It's very, very sad.

Looking around I find myself in the long hallway of the courthouse not remembering my journey from the car and up the steps into air-conditioned heaven. I glance at my watch and sigh. I'm way too early and it's too hot to go back outside. Spying a familiar bench, I trudge over and settle myself down, pulling a bottle of water from my purse.

Oh, I'm feeling lonely and depressed today. Well, today like every other day since everything went down the tubes. Few things peak my interest anymore outside doing a good job for Catherine. I've given up pretending that things will get back to normal with Nick and Greg. It's a shame really because I'd really like to talk to them, to explain myself more thoroughly, and to have someone listen to my worries about what's to come. I know I have Brass. He's been so kind and attentive. But he's not Gil. He tries very hard and I truly appreciate it but there's only one voice I want to hear, one set of hands I want to feel.

Gil's.

All he'd have to do would be run his hand through my hair and say hey and I'd be putty. A bonus would be to hear him say my name the way he does, in those honeyed tones that rocks me to my core.

I miss that.

I miss all of that.

Wiping quickly at my eyes, I sneak a glance about to see if anyone's staring then turn at a noise to my right. A door is opening and I can see a cart, a janitor's cart moving out into the hallway, a tall man in gray coveralls making sure he has everything he needs, then closing the door behind him.

I smile at my drifting thoughts brought about by that door of a very hot day not so long ago when my new white blouse stuck to every part of my exposed skin. I was so glad to get inside the courthouse and plop down onto this very bench thinking I'd never been this hot in my entire life. What a time for my A/C to give out when the thermometer topped out at 118. Lord have mercy it was hot.

And that's when I heard him, his voice echoing down the hall making me sit up straight as a vivid memory of not two hours before raced into my head of us being interrupted in the middle of the best morning sex we'd had in the past two weeks by a call from Ecklie for Gil to come to a meeting NOW. A cold shower for both of us was on the docket and now he was here, prime for the taking. Scanning about the hall, I spied that same janitor coming out that door and quickly made my way toward it before it closed, slipping inside. I knew where Gil was going. I knew he'd walk right past this door. I couldn't believe what I was about to do but found I couldn't help it either.

Hearing him approach, his particular gait memorized years ago, I timed it perfectly and the next thing Gil knew he'd been yanked inside and pressed against the suddenly closed door with very familiar lips attached to his. He couldn't do much but comply.

"Madam," he managed around my fervent kisses. "This is highly inappropriate."

"I know," I responded, my hands running over his chest.

"I'll be late for court."

"Don't care," I answered sucking on his earlobe and getting a deep moan in response. "You know what that suit does to me and we didn't actually finish what we started this morning," I reminded him as I pulled his shirt from his pants and plastered my hands against his skin, feeling him shiver beneath my touch.

"Tell me about it," he finally answered, his hands working their way up my skirt. "It's been a looooong two hours."

"Too long."

I pulled my face from his neck and caught his eyes with mine and then he kissed me, a long drawn out affair that too soon for me drifted from my lips to my chin then down my neck.

"I had to _(kiss)_ sit in a _(kiss)_ silly meeting _(kiss)_ with Ecklie _(kiss)_ Sheriff _(kiss)_ and Cavallo."

"What was the meeting about?" I could've cared less. I just wanted him to keep kissing me.

"Can't remember past _(kiss)_ morning Gil."

I giggled then attacked his lips again, hands roaming south.

"Oh, God," he groaned as I made contact.

It was then a knock sounded and both of us became like statues.

"Dr. Grissom?" came the voice. "Dr. Grissom, you're on."

Gil closed his eyes. "Ah, thank you, Ron. I'm com . . . I'll be right there."

I giggled again and he blushed, grabbing me by the shoulders and pushing me back.

"_You_ are a bad influence on me, woman," he said kissing me soundly before pulling up his zipper I'd magically lowered and tucking in his shirt while I straightened his tie and wiped off the lipstick from every exposed piece of skin on his face and neck.

Cracking open the door, we snuck out, he winked at me, fiddled with his hair and ducked into the courtroom as if he hadn't just been accosted in a broom closet. I smiled wickedly then sauntered off to the ladies room. Now I was hot for another reason but this felt much better.

We'd had a hard time keeping our hands off each other the entire shift but as soon as the clock struck 8:00am, we were out the door and flew home. The front door barely closed before we were stripped and in bed, filling the room with laughter and other things for a good long time. Neither of us could walk very well after that morning romp and we couldn't keep the smiles off our faces for a whole day.

I quickly raise my water bottle to my lips in hopes of covering my silly smile which quickly fades when I wonder if I'll ever experience that much joy again. Will I be damned to think on that moment, and so many others, for the rest of my life without being able to add anything new?

A loud sound pulls me from my deep thoughts and I turn to see the janitor's mop bouncing off the floor. It seems odd that that small mop could make such an echoing buzzing noise long after he'd retrieved it from the floor. So there has to be something else going on. Glancing about I find the something else and my eyes grow wide at the sudden influx of news people coming my way, the buzzing turning into my name being shouted down the hall.

Leaping to my feet, I start moving in the opposite direction only to have my foot strike the puddle the janitor was attempting to mop up and go out from under me, reducing me to an unceremonious sprawl on the floor. Before I can right myself, microphones and cameras and flashing lights fill my vision blinding me to everything else.

"Ms. Sidle, have you heard from Dr. Grissom?"

"Sara, tell us what really happened in that store.

"Ms. Sidle, were you cheating on Dr. Grissom?"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" erupts right behind me and I jerk back as a shadow falls across the floor and I look up into the very angry face of Jim Brass. To me he looks beautiful.

"Your behavior is disgraceful!" he shouts. "You should all be banned from these premises immediately. Bailiff! Escort these gentlemen and ladies out of here."

Disdain drips from every word and still those 'people' continue with their questions. They're just pointed at a different person now.

"Captain Brass, have you heard anything from Dr. Grissom?"

"Has Dr. Grissom been fired?"

"Are you and Sara seeing each other?"

"Holy hell!" I hear him curse as the bailiffs do their job and move the throng out the door and the hallway returns to some semblance of quiet.

Now all I have to do is try and recover any sense of dignity I've lost from being on the floor. But I needn't worry. A hand comes into view followed by Brass's smiling face.

"Come on, kiddo," he coaxes until I finally take his offered hand and let him help me up.

Straightening my jacket, I dust off the seat of my pants before thanking him quietly then turn away.

"Sara, please don't go." His tone is both quiet and urgent and it makes me turn back. "I'd like to talk to you. I haven't seen very much of you these last few days."

"I've been keeping busy," I answer.

"You've been keeping a low profile."

I nod. No sense in trying to hide it. He knows me about as well as Gil does.

"Come on. Let's pop into one of these rooms."

"I have court."

"So do I. You and I are on the same case and we have," he says looking dramatically at his watch, "a little over an hour to kill."

Reluctantly, I follow after him. He opens the door and lets me in first and I take a seat at the small table and stare out the window. It shouldn't be this hard to talk to Brass. He and I have always had a way with each other and I need him now more than ever. My gaze is pulled toward him as he sits next to me and I watch him give me a bit of a smile as he pulls folded papers from his jacket.

"I've been looking for you the better part of this week. I was hoping to take you to breakfast so we could catch up. But every time I tried to find you, you were nowhere to be found. Well, that caught my attention since overtime is your middle name. And then I found out you're working more cases than those other slackers and your overtime is maxed out for the next two months." He grabs my hand. "Running yourself into the ground isn't going to prove anything to anybody. It's just going to make you sick."

I look at him and know he's sincere in his concern. "I need to prove to Gil that I'm trustworthy. That I'm here for the long haul. That I'm not as immature as I was that night when I ruined everything."

"Oh, honey . . ."

"Jim, I need to do this. For Gil. For me."

He looks at me for a long time then nods. "I talked to Nick and Greg."

"Why?" I nervously ask.

"Because they're supposed to be your friends and . . . they pissed me off," he admits as he rubs at his chin.

Surprisingly that warms my heart. "What did they do?"

"That's not important," he gives me with a wave of a hand. "What _is_ important is that I have a message here I want to share with you," he said holding up the papers. "You're the first one I've shown since I got it last night." Holding out the first sheet I just look at it. "It's not going to bite," he pushes and, hesitantly, I take it.

It's an Email.

_To:  
_

_From:  
_

_Attachments: 'The Kids'_

_Re: Bugman_

_Hi, Jim. I wanted to send you photos of Hank's new siblings. Gil hasn't named them yet and he wouldn't let me do the honors since I was the one who named Hank (and we know that wasn't good). I think he might be waiting for Sara but I'm not sure. Right now he just calls them 'the kids'. They make him smile (which is a good thing) and Hank, too, as you can see from the first photo._

_Gil found the kittens in a bag at the beach. Someone tried to drown them. There were 5 but only 2 survived. It was difficult watching him deal with that but these 2 managed to pull through. Their eyes just opened a few days ago and now they're on the prowl with both Hank and Gil trailing after them, trying to keep them out of trouble. They are precious._

_The second photo I simply couldn't resist. After a hard night and day, Gil fell asleep in the den on the old couch. He'd taken up residence there making sure the kittens were safe and when I walked in to see how things were going this is what I found - Gil stretched out with the kittens snuggled up under his neck and Hank cuddled up to his man snoring away. I never showed him this picture knowing he'd be embarrassed but I found it priceless._

_ I'm pretty sure Gil hasn't sent you any messages so, technically, I'm doing this on the sly but I wanted to let you and everyone else know he's minding his mother and sleeping and eating like he should. Physically, he's in much better shape now than when he arrived. Emotionally, he's still a mess. He's lost faith in himself, in his ability to work. When he first arrived, trying to get him interested in anything other than the kittens wasn't working. He wouldn't go anywhere by himself and I'm pretty sure he believed that everyone knew what happened in that store, even the guy at the local 7-11. I worried he'd turn into a hermit, become agoraphobic and that's when it hit me. I'm a mom (I can be sneaky) and I conned him into going fishing with my neighbor, Paul, a man Gil's known for a long time. I think I've created a monster. Now that's all he wants to do. _

_ They've graduated from the Venice pier onto fishing boats and now are a party of five - all cronies of Paul. And none of them have said a thing about what happened in that store. Whether they know about it or not I don't know but they had the wherewithal to keep it to themselves if they did. And that's helped a lot. And it gets both Hank and Gil out of the house and out from underfoot. Of course now_ I_ have to chase after the kittens in the mornings but that's fine with me. Anything to see my boy smile again._

_ Well, I'm done yapping about such things. Please let everyone know he's doing better. And make sure to give Sara the photos. It'll be something to hang onto until things fix themselves. I hope she doesn't think I hate her for how could I when I know how much Gil still loves her. Things happen in relationships – shitty things – but if the love is strong it will remain intact. My Daniel and I proved that over the years._

_ I don't know if he'll be contacting you but you should cross your fingers it'll be soon because that'll mean he's on the mend. _

_ Until I have more to report, take care._

_ Annie_

My breath catches and my eyes begin to well.

He still loves me. Gil still loves me.

"Did you see the kittens?" Brass asks as I quickly glance at the second sheet he's holding out to me. They are adorable and I can see that Hank's already whipped since they are laying all over him and he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.

I wish I could be there for that.

It's then Brass hands me the last sheet and my breath catches again. Gil looks . . . beautiful. But he also looks sad and I know I put that look there. And then I notice the bright blue cast.

"He hurt himself," I whisper running a finger over his wounded hand.

"And it's his right hand, too," Brass states. "If he was here he _really_ wouldn't have to do any paperwork."

I know he meant that to lighten the mood but it releases something in me and I begin to sob. I feel him tense then quickly pull me close and wrap his arms about me.

"Let it out, kiddo. It's okay."

And I do. I haven't cried like this for, well, at least a week.

He's getting out of the house and going fishing.

He's made new friends.

His mom doesn't hate me.

She doesn't hate me because he still loves me.

He's a mess but he still loves me.

I don't know when or if he'll be coming home . . . but he still loves me.

Gil still loves me.

I cry even harder.

* * *

_A teeney tiny bit of GSR for those of you who've been asking. I've been missing it myself.  
_

_ Well, I hope it was worth the wait. This chapter went through many different directions until Jim Brass finally yelled at me to give him a chance. So I did. I really like him and I've missed him. And for those of you who are wondering, I really enjoy the characters of Nick and Greg. But sometimes good characters do dumb things and have to pay the price._

_In the next part we head back to Grissom and a new branch in this twisted tree of a storyline. I hope to not make you wait a month (that was just rude) and I've been working diligently on it for the past few days. _

_Again I thank everyone for sticking with me and, remember, I'm always open to ideas or suggestions when it comes to the next Sara part. Thanks again!  
_


	14. Chapter 14

_Yes it's me! I can't believe how fast this part progressed and, I hope, it's a worthy addition to the other sections of this story. (I like it but I'm a bit prejudiced. :-D). There is a new direction introduced here which may or may not be what G needs but who knows. The man is very complex._

_I want to particularly thank Nancy1 for her continued suggestions and support (keep them coming) and MsRawkeye for her numerous suggestions that I found intriguing and useful (keep them coming). I would also like to thank all of you for coming back after the long interlude betw Part 12 & 13. TessTureHeart, My Kate, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER (yeah, Brass!), NickyStokes (I hope you are now inspired to complete your writing) and all the others who stuck with me. It means a lot._

_Onward ~_**  
**

* * *

**Part 14**

**Grissom**** – 16 days later**

I wish mom would get home. I want to regale her with the exploits of the Fab Five as she calls us. I shake my head. It's so very odd to me how I let myself get roped into being a member of this group especially when I just wanted to be either closeted away with my dog, kittens and mom or fishing with Paul. Only Paul. Outside contact with other people, strangers to me, wasn't on my radar. But you know moms and friends of moms. They sort of take over your lives very softly and the next thing you know you're standing at the end of Venice Pier with Paul and three of his friends - Todd Kaplan, Charlie Pine and Julian (Jules) Jacobs. They'd all known each other since junior high and it showed. They were all 60+ and I was the kid at 49 but it didn't seem to matter. They took me in and, surprisingly, I lapped it up. For the first time since all of this started it felt good to talk to someone other than my mom.

I still remember that first day when Paul _amazingly_ found Todd and Charlie already fishing right next to our designated spot. A quick introduction followed before I could high-tail it back to the truck. And Hank didn't help. He'd found new buddies and it was a lost cause to just slip away. I figured it was a set up but really _knew_ it was one when Jules showed up with surprise on his face and a big hug for me. A hug.

"Gil Grissom, Annie's boy come to town," he said in a boisterous voice. I glared at Paul over the man's shoulder who cast me an innocent look before finding his fishing gear very interesting. "It's fine and dandy to finally meet you. I've heard so much from Paul."

"Oh?" I asked, nerves starting to get the best of me. Paul wouldn't be that black-hearted to spill the beans about 'the incident'. Would he?

"Oh, yeah. He told me about that case you had where you went to that convention where people dressed like animals."

"Yeah, and one guy was dressed like a big blue cat?" Todd interjected.

"And there was a giant raccoon, too," Charlie put in just before his pole started to bend. "Got one!"

That got everyone's attention focused on what Charlie was going to be pulling up and I inched away from the group, trying to quietly get Hank's attention.

"Don't leave, Gil," came Paul's voice.

I startled at the sound of his voice so close to me and slowly shook my head. "I can't . . . I'm not ready to talk about it," I explained as Paul gently grabbed my arm.

"No one is going to bring it up, Gil. I doubt that they even know about it." I hesitated, looking pitifully toward the truck. "Please, Gil. Let's just try it for a little while. If things change we'll leave."

My trust in people isn't top notch, especially now, but Paul had been good for me, had taken me under his wing and shown me what his word meant and I didn't want to disappoint him even though my stomach was roiling and my nerves were jangling right out of my skin. Slowly, I nodded and set down my tackle box, listening to the men talk about the news, the stock market and then sports. It turned out all of them were baseball fans and, once they found out I loved the Cubs, wondered if they'd ever be back in the World Series to which I firmly nodded and followed that with an 'of course'.

By the time lunch rolled around they'd managed to get from me details of the most disgusting crime scene I'd ever witnessed, what was the biggest bug I'd ever seen and did I really almost blow up mom's house with my chemistry kit. But what really got them grabbing their guts and rethinking their sandwiches was when I offered them the grisly details of a body blown to bits by a homemade bomb only to have to reconstruct the poor man by picking up each individual piece and transferring him to the morgue.

"It was awesome!" I said as they groaned, chugalugged their Cokes then clapped me on the shoulder.

"You're all right, Gil," Jules said while the others grinned.

I cherish these men. They see me as Annie's kid not some burned out old scientist who asked a man to kill him because his girlfriend left. I'm not foolish enough to think they don't know no matter what Paul says (men talk as much as women), but they chose to center on other things. And we did all of this over fishing. I'd forgotten that it's not about how many fish you catch but about the time spent together and those four guys, well, they'll never know how much they've helped me and wouldn't believe me if I told them so I keep stuff like that to myself. It was a good time for me when my brain stopped worrying and, instead, debated the tides, the possibility that the seagulls had eaten all the fish, and which War of the Worlds film was better (both have their own merits).

Inane conversation. Very refreshing.

Our many days of pier fishing eventually morphed into boat fishing, myself winning the pot more than once. They even let me take Hank who was so happy I caught him grinning more than once. What a time it was to stand at the bow and let the ocean spray strike me, so different from when I sat on those rocks on the beach when I first arrived. _This_ spray eased away desolate thoughts and let me see that there might just be some tiny speck of light at the end of the tunnel I'd flung myself down.

My thoughts of the boat quickly vanish as Hank shakes himself and covers me in water and suds. I yelp which causes him to stand perfectly still and cast an odd look my way. It makes me laugh that look and I swear I can see another grin forming on his beautiful face. He opens his mouth and I know a happy bark is coming my way when he looks away, ears up. It's then I register a knocking at the front door. Dropping my hands into the water to wipe off the clinging bits of soap, I lean against the metal tub and push myself up reminding Hank his bath isn't finished. Grabbing a towel, I call out 'I'm coming' and head inside wondering why Paul doesn't just use his key.

Pulling open the door, my off color comment fades on my tongue and my smile slides from my face. Dread starts to weave its way back into my innards. I'd managed to push it away, that feeling, to stuff it back into the dark place from whence it came. Apparently, the lock I used wasn't quite strong enough.

"Hi, Gil," he says. "Long time no see."

**Conway Germen**

Shock. Pure unadulterated shock is what I read on Gil's face which then morphs into a bit of worry, fear even, before it disappears leaving him to purse his lips and squint at me just like in the old days.

"May I come in?" I ask and he hesitantly steps back, just enough for me to slip past him and into the familiar room I haven't seen in years.

I turn back to him. He hasn't moved, his hand still clutched about the doorknob. He looks good. Tan, trim. His hair's a bit grayer but his eyes are still as blue as the sky. That always got all the girls' attention.

Okay, I was jealous.

Okay, I'm still jealous.

"You look good," I start.

"I'm on leave," he says, his tone soft and measured.

I know that. I know all about that but I can't let on. Not yet anyway. So I play it nice and easy.

"What? A friend can't come and visit?" He tilts his head and looks at me like I've seen him look at a bug. And, yes, it is uncomfortable.

"Did you come as a friend," Gil begins, leaving in a dramatic pause he's mastered over time, "or the Director of L.A.'s CSI division?"

I knew I should've talked to Annie before coming here but I was so excited that Gil was in town I let my heart overrule my head. I haven't done that since . . . well, since last Thursday when I ate an entire cheesecake by myself.

"Gil," I say drawing out his name and giving him a shake of my head but it doesn't do me any good. He's got me in his sights and won't let go.

"You've got a file under your arm with red post it notes sticking out and the same pinched look I carried when a case got away from me."

I hate that he can read me so well. Not that I was actually trying to hide anything because this is Gil Grissom. What would be the point? Besides, I might be really good at kissing butt to get funding or glad handing to make sure that funding isn't cut a year later, but I'm terrible at trying to pull the wool over this particular person's eyes. Even if he is suffering through a horrible, horrible time, he's still Gil Grissom; he's still the man with all the answers and I still want to be like him when I grow up. So anything I say would insult his intelligence and that is something you don't want to do on purpose. Instead I merely eye him and keep my mouth shut.

He peers at me and I can see the wheels turning. He starts to fiddle with the blue cast on his hand and I know what's coming.

"How did you know I was here?" finally comes out.

I eye him a bit longer then sigh. "You want the long story or the short one?"

"I want the truth."

Ah, straight to the point. That's why I've missed this man. Oh, how I wish he'd ditch Vegas and come home to L.A. I bet we'd make #2 lab in the country pretty damn quick with him here.

"Conway."

The way he says my name pulls me from my musings and I rub at my chin to cover up my embarrassment and point to the couch. He slowly nods and I sit. He remains standing behind the side chair.

"I called your office and got a Catherine Willows instead. She was kind enough to tell me where you were once she found out who I was. Sometimes my title gets my foot in the door." He's still staring at me and my light mood mellows. "It was an official call, Gil."

"I told you I'm on leave," he says again. I can see melancholia emerge. It wasn't there when he first opened the door.

"You're _not_ doing it or _won_'t do it?" I ask.

"Both."

I nod and look about the room. "Still looks the same even after all these years. I'm sure it's very comforting to be here amid your childhood memories of hearth and home. Much better than the daily grind of murder and rape. . ." I pause. I can do dramatic, too. " . . . and asking someone to kill you."

I hear his breath hitch and quickly look at him. The color is slowly fading from his face and he's grabbed so tightly to the back of the chair, the knuckles on his non-casted hand stand out white from his tan.

"I know what happened, Gil, and I don't care. We all go off the deep end from time to time. There is no shame affixed to it. It happens."

"It doesn't happen to me," he gave back, his voice barely a whisper.

"But it did, my friend, and now it's done. You need to get back on track and do what you do best."

He looked away from me. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?" I ask again.

He grimaces. "Both," he admits. Ah, we're back to that.

"What are you worried about, Gil?" I ask hoping he'll answer but knowing he won't. I change tactics. "Short of murdering anybody I don't think you'll have to worry about people not wanting to work with you. And, being that this is L.A., probably not even then. You're Dr. Gilbert Grissom, one of the only forensic entomologists in the world. Your reputation precedes you and lights the way. When I told my guys you were in town, their eyes lit up. It's disgusting how they idolize you. Makes me feel like chopped liver."

He shook his head. "Yeah, well, I'm not that person anymore."

"Only if you don't want to be," I remind him, sitting forward on the couch. "I remember someone once told me that it was better to announce how you'd embarrassed yourself before someone else could. It may kill you to do it in the beginning but it pays off big time later on. Words to live by I've found out." I look up at him then watch him stare at the floor. "I seem to recall those words came from you."

"Just words."

"Jesus, Gil. You were on the edge, you reacted. If the twit who found the recording hadn't put it on the internet only the LVPD would know. You got shafted, screwed, fucked up the ass, but it didn't kill you. You're still here and you're the best I've ever seen in putting two and two together. Don't lock yourself away now when I need you. When Mr. and Mrs. Remington need you." He looked at me then and narrowed his eyes. I went in for the kill. "They need you to find out who killed their daughter, April."

If I didn't know him better I would've run for the hills at the look he was giving me. He was angrier than I'd ever seen him but I couldn't give in now. It was low what I'd done but it had to be done.

"That's not fair," he manages through clenched teeth.

"Life isn't fair, Gil, as you've just recently found out."

I rise from the couch and approach him, slowly. I didn't want to scare him off or come within striking distance either.

"I'm stumped, Gil, and so are my guys. _You_ are my only hope. Don't let what happened to you ruin your entire life, no matter the reasons behind it. Those reasons aren't important when it comes to finding a brutal murderer/rapist and until you quit CSI and head to China, I'm gonna be coming 'round here and knocking on your door and you know how much Annie likes me."

He remains mute and I wonder if I've screwed up everything with my tough love act. It works on my guys but, then, Gil is a horse of a different color.

When he still doesn't say anything I sigh and drop the file on the coffee table. "My card's in there. I hope I hear from you before the bastard strikes again."

Pausing a moment to see if he'll say anything, I give him a nod and head for the door only to find myself facing Annie on the other side. I sign a hello/good bye, buss her on the cheek and leave her to stare after me. Settled in my car I head back to work and know the first thing anyone will ask me is "what was it like to talk to Grissom?" and I groan.

What was it like?

Like it always is – an honor to be in the same room as the man.

**Grissom**

My eyes won't leave the file sitting innocently on the coffee table. How could he do that to me? How could he give me her name.

"Gil?" comes mom's voice and I jump. I hadn't even noticed she was back. "Sorry, Gil," she signs glancing toward the door and back again. "What was Conway doing here?"

"Visiting," is all I say as I rub my forehead.

I can feel a headache coming on and curse the moment I opened the front door. I'd been having such a wonderful day, a wonderful couple of weeks, and now that file sits there piquing the curiosity I'd buried deep when I came home and making me think of things I'm not ready for.

"Did you and the boys have a good day fishing?" she asks of me before flitting off toward the kitchen. "I see you did. Why is Hank jumping in and out of that tub in the yard?"

I hear her words but it takes another touch to my arm to pull me back to the here and now and I finally look at her. She frowns and runs a gentle hand along my cheek.

"I see you got a lot of fish," she begins referring to the six large Bonita I left in the sink before taking care of Hank. "So did something happen on the boat today? Is that why Hank is covered in soap suds?" She smiles when she says that but I can read an underlining worry. "Oh, what happened to your cast?" she asks next pulling at the soggy pieces.

She deserves more from me than silence. "We fell overboard," I finally say with a faint smile. "Hank and I."

Her eyes shoot to mine. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm fine," I assure her. "Todd got hold of a big fish, a _really_ big fish, and his feet slipped out from under him. I reached and so did Hank and all three of us - splat - right in the water."

"Is Todd all right?" she asks dragging me toward the kitchen table.

"He's fine," I say with a bit of a grin. "He was pissed I cut his line. Thought he had a whale on the other end and was going to win the pot."

She laughs and it's a sweet sound that makes my sort of smile widen and thoughts of Conway and the dread that overtook me fades into the background along with my headache.

"Oh, this is a mushy mess," she says in reference to my cast and I know what that means - a trip to the hospital.

"Can't we just saw it off?" I whine and she grins back at me, running a hand through my stiff hair.

"You are so cute when you bellyache."

That's mom talk for 'get your stuff we're going to the hospital'.

"But I have to finish with Hank first," I try knowing it won't work.

"I'll do it. Put the fish in the fridge and go change out of your fishing duds. Go on. The quicker we get . . ."

". . . this done. I know the rest."

She smiles at me and it's like a tonic to my stirred up emotions. I hurry to do her bidding thinking that maybe the doctor will give me a brace instead. I really don't want another blue cast.

**Annie**

"Well, at least it's not pink," I say to Gil in hope of easing up the embarrassment at the bright purple cast now adorning his arm. "Purple is a good color. It's the color of good judgment and peace of mind. You've been finding that lately, peace of mind, and I'll be forever grateful to Paul and the boys for that. Aren't you?" He sighs then nods. "Then what is it, Gil?"

"It was bad enough trying to explain why I, a grown man, had a blue cast. Now this," he says pointing at his arm.

"They'll just tease you not judge you. You've told me that before."

"I guess."

It makes me grin when he's like this because I'm guessing his tone is forced indifference. I remember it still from when he was a child and I'd remind him that he couldn't help it if he was smarter than the other kids even though I knew he just wanted to fit in.

The light changes and we drive in silence for a few miles, Gil sucking on the straw attached to his malt (he always gets one for being a good boy), and I know I'm about to open a can of worms but I didn't miss the file sitting on the coffee table. I know Conway was at the house for more reasons than visiting. I could just string him up for bringing that world back into Gil's life at this point. But neither of us can ignore it so I dive right in at the next red light.

"Are you going to help Conway?" I ask. A purely innocent look on my face does he see when his eyes dart toward me. "I can think of no other reason why the CSI Director would be coming to our house since he hasn't accepted any of my dinner invitations over the past year."

The light changes and off we go and I can almost hear him thinking.

"You invited him to dinner?" he finally manages to get through to me as we stop at yet another red light. Out of all that, that's what he heard.

"Why not?" I ask and smile at him. His mouth opens and closes and his fingers remain still in his lap. "He's your friend and mine. I've known him for years. He'd do anything for you, Gil, and me." I wait a moment for him to say something. When he doesn't, I continue. "Besides, he's always trying to finagle information out of me on how your lab does so well. My answer is simple. They have you."

He blushes and I can see a slight turn at the corner of his mouth there amongst the frown. The light changes again and onward we go, an easy silence filling the rest of our trip. Once home, I head towards the fridge to take care of the fish and Gil disappears into the den, reappearing just a minute later with empty food dishes and a shake of the head.

"What?" I ask as he retrieves a can of kitten food from the cupboard.

"They're going to eat us out of house and home," he signs.

"Those little things? Hank eats more than all of us put together."

I see him laugh and watch as he neatly halves the can and carefully mushes it up, disappearing once again into the den. I know I won't see him for a good ten minutes. He has to take time and have a conversation with the kids before going out to retrieve Hank. I settle into filleting and wonder what his friends in Las Vegas would do if they caught sight of that. Of course, they were probably already getting a kick out of the photo I'd sent Jim.

When he comes back, he's alone as he stands next to me at the sink.

"Where's Hank?" I ask.

"Visiting the kids," he answers with a slight grin. "Do you need any help?" he asks.

I shake my head then reconsider. I've gotten pretty good at filleting fish since fishing has become his life, but I'm trying a new recipe tonight. Perhaps he could help.

"You can get the mixer down for me. Get out the flour, salt, paprika, chili powder, nutmeg, cinnamon, oregano, cream of tartar, cumin, ground mustard, onions and two lemons."

"Don't need any help, huh?" he signs and I grin. "What came after the cinnamon?"

"Oregano, cream of tartar, cumin, ground mustard, onions and lemons," I repeat.

He clears a space on the counter and hefts down the mixer then proceeds to gather all that I need stacking them neatly within reaching distance then stands there looking at them.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"All of that doesn't sound very appetizing," he says with a slight grimace.

I shrug. "It might not be. I got this recipe from Harriet Bloom down the block. She swears by it."

"Harriet Bloom's like 200 years old."

I look at him. "A lot of recipes you like are handed down from two generations of Grissom's so don't make fun. Besides, if it stinks we'll throw it out and go get McDonalds. Harriet need never know."

I see him laugh and watch his eyes sparkle and I join in. I won't ruin the mood by bringing up Conway or that file again. I know he won't be able to ignore it for much longer and it doesn't do any good for me to push. So I'll just enjoy the moment.

"So tell me about your morning with the boys."

"I already told you the good part," he signs.

"Ah, but I want to know the _whole_ story."

He smirks, no doubt remembering his request for just the same thing when he was about eight and his father let slip an adventure with his brother, Herb, which included hanging from a mountain and a snake bite. He wouldn't let it go until both Daniel and Herb regaled him for hours with every little detail they could remember and embellish since they had such a wonderful audience.

He waits until I'm done filleting, helps me pack the fish away in the freezer then leads me into the den, each of us with a plate of cookies and a frosty glass of milk.

"Well, it started like every other trip," he begins as we sink onto the couch, "except we found out it was Todd's birthday. He was late and almost missed the boat and we all teased him about what Edith had gotten him as a present since he showed up with a silly grin on his face. He turned all shades of red. Well, we got on the boat . . ."

His excitement returned in the telling of the tale. His eyes flash and he laughs and shakes his head and I was overwhelmed with how much I love my son. He is such a joy. I was seeing a side of him that came alive when he finally decided to take a chance on Sara and had been missing these past weeks. If only he could hold onto it, especially after he reads that file. Oh, I'm not fool enough to think he won't. I curse Conway for showing up. Curse him for making Gil remember what he's so desperately trying to forget - the job could've taken Sara's life and, along with it, his own. I'd been fiddling with the idea that he'd leave CSI and become a teacher instead to get him away from those monsters that roam the streets but I guess that's a pipedream. Gil takes his job very seriously and the only thing that will make him walk away is if he had Sara by his side and the two of them could travel the world. But if they don't get back together . . .

"Jules was regaling us with the finer points of the latest version of the movie "Saw" when someone shouted shark and all of us scrambled to the other side of the boat which wasn't smart since it tipped precariously to port. And that's when all the trouble started."

His smile grows wider and I revel in it wondering how long he'll be able to hold out before that file calls to him loud enough for him not to ignore.

Damn, Conway.

**Grissom**

I am inquisitive by nature. I've always been that way. It helped tremendously in my job, but now . . . Now it's just a pain in the ass as I finally pull myself from tousled sheets, tell Hank to stay put and head downstairs to stare at that damn file that seems to glow in the dark like a red flare motioning me forward and warning me away at the same time.

I had a lovely morning with the guys. Spent an even better rest of the day and evening with mom which put my 'visit' from Conway on the shelf, so far back in my brain it would take a map to find it, yet here I stand, my head so filled with thought upon thought that I can't keep my eyes closed to partake in the soothing depths of sleep. A curse escapes me and I rub my forehead because, until Conway walked through that door, I believe I would've had the strength to ignore the dog eared, manila folder staring up at me. I would've been able to pick it up off the table, hand it back and escort him out of my life.

But then things changed.

Conway's sudden appearance. His speaking with Catherine and her spilling the about my location. The fact that he knew what happened. It all shook me, cracked my newfound confidence and sent me right back to those cold hours standing in that store, knowing my life was over in more ways than one. I hadn't thought about that night for over a week. I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I could have a new life; that I might be able to go in a new direction or even return to my old one and, now . . . now . .

Now I'm staring at April Remington's case file and blaming it all on Conway. If he'd asked for himself perhaps I would've been able to ignore it but to give me her name . . . I shake my head and rub my neck. That was low, even for Conway.

It's just a file, I remind myself. Just a file filled with meaningless papers and photos that mean nothing to me. I turn away and start back toward the stairs and barely clear the first step when my hand tightens on the newel post and I sigh. Who am I kidding? That poor girl should have closure and if I can provide the answers I shouldn't be running away. I've been doing enough of that lately. I've been letting what I did, what I asked for, define me, paralyze me, reduce me to a quivering mass of what I used to be and what I can't be any longer. What I _presume_ I can't be any longer. I hang my head then shake it and stare at the faded carpet that covers the stairs thinking that's what I've become - a tattered, washed out remnant of who I used to be and find that, for the first time since all of this started, I don't like how it makes me feel.

I look up then and stare at the folder waiting for my body to make up my mind for me and, when it does, I just follow to stand and stare at the file up close. And, like the last cookie looking so forlorn in the jar, I can't help but snap it up and head upstairs trying to ignore myself as the two halves of my brain yell at each other.

Straightening the bedcovers, I sit with my back to the headboard, the kids barely giving me a look, seemingly more put out by Hank scrambling up next to me and disturbing their slumber. I put on my glasses, take a deep breath and let it out slowly, the last part leaving me as I open the folder and ready myself for what's to come.

I start reading the report.

I see the first pictures . . . and drop the folder out of nerveless fingers when a quick flash of Sara rockets across my vision.

Sara.

Why now?

Since the night I shouted to the heavens that she's the only one I'll ever love, I somehow found the strength to construct a special file cabinet for her in my head and locked her inside. It was the only way to keep her memory safe and clear of all my dark thoughts if I ever choose to look at them again. I simply didn't have the energy to keep them loose, to find myself pondering continuously on what I've lost. I simply couldn't do it. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So I let other things consume me - fishing, hanging out with the guys, the kids, Hank, mom. It's given me breathing space and something else to think about for a time. I felt that I might be on my way to making a bigger decision than what bait shall I use tomorrow. But the moment I opened this file, the moment I delved back into my CSI roots, here she comes to remind me that she's still waiting out there, still waiting for me to find it within myself to forgive her and come home.

Can I?

Should I?

A tremble erupts and I close my eyes against the wetness I can already feel sliding down my face. How fragile I still am that just a quick thought of her reduces me to a shuddering wreck and pushes away the idea that I might be able to stand a bit straighter now.

"Holy shit!" I growl and push the file from my lap, dropping my head into my hands, forgetting my cast and clunking myself on the cheek. "Ow," I grumble.

A tiny 'woof' comes next and I look at Hank and see . . . worry. Somehow that calms me and I slowly lean and kiss him on the nose.

"Thanks, boy," I say, snuffling, and watch his worry evaporate replaced with that grin I'd seen on the boat. "You'll never know how much."

Swiping at my face, I gather up the file and try again, forcing myself to use my old techniques for clearing my head of extraneous information. After a time longer than normal, it does the trick and I exhale noisily noticing miffed looks from the kids. Gently I coo at them (yes, coo) then turn my full attention to the April Remington case.

There's no turning back now as my eyes take in each word before moving to the next page to find I'm well and truly caught. The perpetrator is a heinous individual who needs to be kept away from people. There's no way I can turn my back now and Conway knew that.

Well, that leaves me with one of two things I could say to him the next time he happens to be in earshot.

You're a bastard, Conway, and I'm so going to get you for this.

Or,

I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you.

* * *

_I wasn't sure if Grissom's Uncle Herb was his mom's or dad's relative so I tossed a coin. (If it's wrong please let me know.) _

_Well, I hope you liked this part. Mr. G seems to be getting back on track or so it seems. Don't forget this is angsty drama here. Who knows what'll happen once he gets started back down that path._

_Now, don't get too comfortable with this quick posting thing. As much as I dream about whipping out these parts bing-bang-boom you should all know by now Sara's side of things take me longer. Now I have a pretty good idea (a variation of a couple of suggested ideas I received) but I've not even put pen to paper. In fact, her part isn't even in my outline yet. So, I'd better stop making excuses and get to writing!_

_Thanks again for all your help and support and keep those reviews coming. I live for them! (You think I'm kidding.) :-D  
_


	15. Chapter 15

_THANKS EVERYONE FOR HANGING IN! This part went through many changes, many voices, until I finally settled on what's below. I hope everyone likes it. _

_My continuing thanks to: TessTrueHeart, Hithui, gsrfan34, Moochiecat, leahsgramma, MsRawkeye (be safe in London), CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, NickyStokes, My Kate and Nancy1 (thanks for all the suggestions)_

_Onward ~_**  
**

* * *

**Part 15**

**Sara**

I've always loved the rain. It makes things grow. It cleans off the dirt that collects during those hot Vegas days. It makes me want to wrap myself in a blanket and take a nap. Gil and I always snuggled on the couch when it rained watching some old movie and eating popcorn. It was . . . cozy, and loving, and where I wanted to be.

I miss that. I wonder if he does, too.

Tonight, I'm anything but cozy as I sit here in the parking lot in of the lab, watching the rain pelt against the SUV's window, waiting to see who Catherine sends my way. Oh, I hope it's Warrick. He doesn't seem to hold a grudge. He at least tries to understand. I don't really want to spend my shift with Nick or Greg. Since the two of them have been making themselves scarce around me it just wouldn't do to be stuck at a scene and have to 'talk to each other' about evidence or scenarios or anything that doesn't resemble silence.

God, when did it get so bad? Oh, yeah, when I walked out the door and didn't look back.

I shake my head. I shouldn't dwell on such things. It's all out of my control anyway and just makes me crazy so I'll think on other things. Reaching into my pocket, I withdraw the other thing I'd rather think about - a small laminated photo. A smile crosses my lips and I remember I kissed Brass that day in the courthouse for giving me something to hold onto. He'd hugged me and held me tightly and it reminded me of Gil and I cried all over his suit. I could see the wet spot on his shoulder as he took the stand. He didn't seem to mind.

After two hours of sitting and waiting then testifying, I gave Brass another thank you and was off to Kinko's, only to walk out less than ten minutes later with this token I now hold in my hand. I take it wherever I go. If I'm not looking at it my fingers are running over it in my pocket. More than once I've been caught staring off into space with a ghost of a smile on my face. I chalk it up to the spate of lovely weather we're having to which everyone replies 'but it's raining'. Yeah, it is, I respond and they walk away with worried looks on their faces. Except for Brass, who pulls at his ear lobe, smirks a bit and wanders back to his office, a pleased look on his face.

Gil loves me.

I giggle. I've been doing more of that as well, the darkness lightening a bit as I call to memory those lines in Annie's Email - "_She'll probably think I hate her but how can I when I know how much Gil still loves her."_ And coming home each night I go to bed and snuggle up to his pillow, the smell of him slowly dissipating so I hang on as hard as I can. A tear or two usually comes, a horrible memory of the store flashes and then my hand falls on the photo on my nightstand and a smile follows. Always a smile.

There have been other photos - the Fab Five (I love that name) proudly showing off their catch, another with Hank and the kids, Gil in his fishing gear and one of him with a pensive look as he watches the sunset turn the sky shades of red and orange. But it is this one, Gil asleep with Hank and the kids snuggled under his neck, that is my heart's desire. Perhaps because it's the first one I'd seen since he'd left, or that the kids seem to know that he will keep them save much as I know that. Or it could be because of the mystery of his cast.

I trace his face and end up there, always there, wondering what happened and hoping, at some point, he'll be willing to tell me. Annie said he'd had a bad time of it. I wonder about that, too. I suppose I could send Annie an Email but know I can't. I can no more directly contact her than I can Gil. It seems like a violation of privacy, of his recovery, for the person who caused him to fall to suddenly pop into his world unbidden.

Brass. I could ask Brass. He'll do it.

My smile returns.

If not for him . . . If not for Jim Brass, that big teddy bear, I don't know how I would've held on. He is my raft in the middle of a chaotic sea and I cling to him since there is no one else. Catherine is courteous only out of respect for Gil, Greg is unhappy and quiet, Warrick neutral and Nick . . . Nick is angry. At me, at Gil or himself I can't tell and I've been feeling lately that I'm losing the will to care which is a shame since I've always thought of him as a brother.

"Fair weather friends," I mutter then frown as I look up to see the object of my thoughts standing just outside the door to the lab, unmoving. "Oh, joy."

I sigh then turn my attention back to the photo, a slight tug making its way to the corner of my mouth again as I hear Gil's voice in my head.

_"You will know that forgiveness has begun when you recall those who hurt you and feel the power to wish them well.*" _

I cast a look at Nick again and know that I want to forgive him. I want him back in my life. I need the help I know he can offer. Taking a deep breath I let it out slowly and decide.

"I forgive you, Nick," comes from me and a touch of sadness dissipates.

If it was only so easy to forgive myself, forgive my rash use of words on the man I love. Soon I promise myself. Soon I'll be able to say to him all that I need because he loves me.

He still loves me.

I smile again.

**Nick**

Damn, damn, damn. She's in the car. And it's not like she can't see me standing here in the doorway if she looks. Maybe I should just slip back inside, ask Greg to go in my place. Greg. How would that be better?

I'm such a chicken shit.

This is bad on so many levels when I'd rather face the wrath of Catherine and get canned than face a person I've known for long while and thought of as a sister. I'm such a giant turd and she knows it. Hell, everyone knows it.

For almost a month I've managed to stay away from Sara. Coming in early, always being busy, waiting until she leaves before I head out the door, trading with Warrick so I wouldn't have to go out with her. And all I've been doing is hiding first behind my anger at Grissom, then my anger at Sara for embarrassing me only to realize that I'd embarrassed myself over and over again, finally culminating in the terse meetings I'd just gone through a few moments ago.

After having two days off and being away from home I came back to two flats on my truck. Racing around trying to get them fixed, I was late for assignments which means I was going to get stuck with the worst one, usually a decomp. But it wasn't the assignment I objected to, it was my partner.

"I can't work with her, Catherine," I stated looking her square in the face.

"Well, that's what happens when you come in late," she clarified for me, her icy gaze never leaving me.

"I had a flat." Like that explained everything.

She gave slight shake to her head. "You were still late. Sara was here and you need a partner. So grab your kit and get out there. She's waiting in the truck."

"Catherine . . ."

"Nick," she gave back, her tone one she probably uses with Lindsey. "Get out to the lot, get in your vehicle, smile nicely at your partner, and get to your scene. Do I need to remind you that it's raining and the longer you wait the less viable evidence remains on site? So, unless you want it all washed away and then have to wade into the sewer to find what you're looking for, I suggest you get your ass moving!"

I clenched my jaw at the sight of that particular expression she favored when someone was about to get a tongue lashing. The last time I saw that look it resulted in a right hook that broke the nose of one of Brass' men for making an unladylike comment about her low cut shirt and what it showed. I didn't want to be carted off to the hospital this night or any night so I simply nodded and backed slowly from her office only to find my arm in the tight grasp of Doc Robbins as he dragged me toward one of the labs.

I'd not seen much of the good doctor lately, stuck as he was in the morgue with Super Dave out and his temporary replacement running from the room every five minutes to puke, so I figured the pinched look on his face was due to overwork. When he not so quietly slammed the lab door then turned on me, a moment taken either to catch his breath or restrain himself from smacking me with his cane, I tossed that idea out the window. His next words brought it home to me.

"I hear you're partnered with Sara tonight," he stated, his voice calm even though his eyes were narrowed and blazed into me.

"Yes." It seemed the less I said the better.

He nodded. "I recall a time not so long ago when she let you stay with her after Nigel Crane came into your life. She took care of you, made sure you took your meds and took you to your appointments. She was there when the dreams came and offered solace and comfort, and she did this all because you are her friend. And yet, when the tables were turned, what does she get from you? Nothing. Nothing but spite and childish behavior."

His voice was rising ever so slightly as he crept toward me.

"I already know that Brass reamed you a new one," he continued, "and I've been waiting to see what you'd do and, since I'm here, you've apparently not done enough to suit me. So let me make this clear." He took a breath then stopped inches from my face. "If you fuck with her head any more than you already have, it won't be Grissom or Brass that takes you out. It'll be me. And there's a lot about me you don't know. Do I make myself clear?"

Since all the blood in my body apparently had pooled at my feet leaving me cold and completely frozen to the spot, all I could do was nod. He glared at me then slowly turned back toward the door.

"I'm sorry," I blurted.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a disgusted look on his face. "You've a lot of sorrys to say, young man, but none of them belong to me. Make this right, Nick."

With that he was gone and I leaned against the table, my breath suddenly hard to find. Jesus, I've worked my way into an endless pit with slippery sides and no one to come to my rescue. And then, like the proverbial light bulb, it finally slammed into my head that _I_ had to rescue myself. _I_ had to make things right even if it killed me and I had to do it tonight.

I didn't want to worry about what Doc was sharpening down in the morgue, so I grabbed my kit and slicker and bolted out the door only to come to a dead stop, right where I am now, staring at the SUV sitting so innocently under a light. I can see her looking at something and she has a faraway look on her face.

Okay, let's do this, Stokes. Get in the car. Do what you do best which is charm your way out of trouble. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Use my charm.

No! God, why would I even consider that? That's not me, damnit!

That's not me with Sara anyway.

When did I become such a sniveling coward? When did I become the person I hate – pushing things off, blaming other people, being a bastard? Oh, don't have to guess on that one. I know exactly when that happened. The day after Sara left and the rumor mill was in full swing and I just went right along with it.

And now it's time to face the music.

Stepping into the rain, I hurry toward the truck and pull open the door, sliding into the driver's seat and heaving my slicker and kit into the back next to hers.

"Hey, Nick," she says to me like it was the old days and I crack inside. I've missed her. I've missed what we had. And it all falls on me.

"I've got hot chocolate," she says thumping the top of a thermos.

"Ah, thanks," I say not understanding why she's being so nice. Sliding the key into the ignition, the engine rumbles to life and we pull out of the lot.

"I finished off the Larchmont case file for you. You forgot to sign it back in. It's sealed and delivered back to storage." I glance at her then away. "Oh, and I knew you were swamped so I processed the trace on Donna Covet. The file's on your desk."

"Stop!" I cry, pulling to the side of the road and throwing on the parking brake. "Just stop," I repeat before pushing open the door and stepping out into the rain.

"Nick?" she calls after me.

I can't look, but stop a few paces from the car, hands on my hips, my back to her. I can hear the window rolling down.

"Nick! You're getting soaked! Nick!"

I can't move. There's so much shit going through my head that nothing's making sense anymore. The next thing I know she's quietly standing by my side. She doesn't have her slicker on either.

"Why are we standing in the rain when there's a perfectly dry car behind us?" she asks.

Shaking my head at the absurdity of it all, I grunt out something unintelligible, grab her arm and shove her toward the SUV, both of us getting inside and settling in.

"That was fun," she says.

"How can you be like this, Sara?" I forcefully ask, not daring to look at her.

"Like what?"

Flabbergasted, I chance a look. "So, so nice to me?"

"You're my friend, Nick. You've always been my friend since my first day. I've been wanting to speak with you but you made it plain you weren't interested so I stayed away. I didn't want to make you anymore uncomfortable than you already were."

"That's not right, Sara," he says.

"But it's my fault . . ."

"No!" I yell and slam my hand on the steering wheel. "_You_ are not at fault here. It was me. All me. First I did it to Grissom then you. How can you even be talking to me now? I've been such a bastard to you both."

"Yes, you have." I glance at her then. "But then I wasn't very nice either now was I. I not only walked away from Grissom but from you and Greg and Brass and Catherine and didn't look back. That's not much of a friend in my book."

Her eyes are glassy and I reach out to clasp her hand and she squeezes back.

"No, Sara. You had your reasons I just . . . I thought your reasons were different and I took it out on Grissom. I'm ashamed of the way I acted. I'm ashamed that I didn't have the capacity within me to simply ask questions. And when you came back and straightened us all out, I was mortified at what I'd done and took it out on you. It was heartless and cruel. How can you be talking to me?"

"You already said that, Nick."

She laughs a bit and I pull her hand to me and kiss the back of it, sandwiching it between both of mine.

"I'm so sorry, Sara. You'll never know how sorry I am for being such a prick. I've held onto this anger for too long and it's eating me up inside. You know why I took those days off? Because I couldn't stand how I was around you. I couldn't stand the sight of _me_ and I went up to the mountains and just sat there for two days trying to figure out when I'd become this rotting creep who thought it was okay to bash a friend."

"Nick, you're being too hard on yourself."

"Am I? Brass tried to tell me. He tried to tell me what I was doing and what it was doing to you but all I could see was my anger – at you, at Grissom. And come to find out it was wrong on all counts and that gave me quite a shock. I wasn't raised to be like this. I don't know how you can sit there, how you can take my hand. I don't know what I'm going to do when Grissom comes back, what I'm going to say. I don't know if he'll even listen.

"But _you're_ here, right here, and I shouldn't waste any more time in letting my pride ruin what you mean to me. You're one of my best friends. You're going through a hard time. I should be here for you instead of worrying about how _I_ feel."

"It's okay, Nick."

I shake my head. "No, no it's not. I'm mad at you, Sara. I've been mad at you since you came back."

"I know."

"But don't you see. I had no right to be mad. But I don't want to be mad anymore. I don't want to sit by and watch you suffer. I want to be there for you while you wait. I want you to be able to call me friend again. And I want you to be able to come to me if . . . if Grissom decides not to come back." She tenses and I see a quick flinch cross her face. "But I'm pretty sure he'll be back," I quickly add.

She frowns at me. "Why do you think that?"

I smile. My first genuine smile in a long time. "Because he loves you and only you. He just has to work things out is all."

She swipes at her eyes and grins up at me. "Thank you, Nick. You don't know how much I missed . . . this. I've been very lonely since all this started and it was worse when I knew I'd done it to myself."

"Well, you're not alone anymore. Greg's been trying to figure out how to make all this up to you as well. He misses your company as do I." I smile at her then reach up to wipe the tear she missed.

"He _is_ coming back." It's a statement not a question even though her voice cracks a bit.

"I'd put good money on it."

She gives me another nod then wipes again at her face. "We should go. They're probably wondering where we are."

I let go of her hand. "I'm sure Brass is cursing us to high heaven about now."

"Ah, but we have one thing he doesn't that'll make everything all right."

"What's that?" I ask as we pull back onto the street.

"Hot chocolate."

I laugh. She joins in. And it feels good. It feels good that I can share a laugh, a smile, a conversation with a person who sometimes knows me better than I do myself.

But we're a puzzle with a missing piece. And that piece is sitting in California, no doubt, trying desperately to figure out if he still fits in with us.

I wish I could tell him that he does.

* * *

_*The quote is from __- __Lewis B. Smedes _

* * *

_Well, there it is. I hope you enjoyed it. Now Nick and Sara are back on speaking terms, and Greg won't be far behind. I wouldn't want to face down Doc Robbins especially with all of the grinding tools he has. Gives me the shivers._

_Part 16 is back to California and a bit of a revelation for the G-man and the audience. I hope to see you then. Thanks for reading and reviewing. And to all of those reviewers and readers in London, I hope you are all safe. :-D  
_


	16. Chapter 16

_**A GREAT BIG WRAPAROUND HUG OF APPRECIATION TO:**__ Nancy1, MsRawkeye, Moonstarer, My Kate and TessTrueHeart. All of you helped me sort out my dilemma and the result is here. (Hope you like it.) Thank you and I hope I can call on you again when my pen decides to take me in 20 different directions._

_There's a new CSI fan site - CSI Forever Online. It's a great place to visit and join. Come on over. The more the merrier!_

_I promised a revelation in this part and, guess what, what you read here wasn't what I planned so it's been bumped to Part 17 which will be a continuation of this section. It seems the characters had much more to say than I thought and I had to split it into two._

_Thanks to everyone for continuing to read and review. It just brightens up my day. And I hope none of you are in the way of Irene. _

_**WARNING**: OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE - loud and vulgar and perfect for the situation (at least I think so). Just wanted to let you know.  
_

* * *

**Part 16  
**

**Grissom**

_ It's dark. _

_ It's the kind of dark where you can't see your hand in front of your face. _

_ And I'm out in it._

_ Where I am I haven't a clue but I should be here. That I know without a doubt. But where is here?_

_ I stretch out my unseen hand hoping to contact something solid, something I might recognize. I take small steps, both hands out now and shuffle forward. _

_Despite the oddness of all this my mind wanders thinking I must finally have gone over the edge and it doesn't seem to bother me. That's odd, too. When Sara left I sunk so low so fast that it was difficult to keep up but all I felt was a sluggishness that took over not this rancid darkness that seems to cling to me. But maybe I've gotten lost inside my own head and shut everything out. Maybe that's what the dark represents. I've shut everyone out and blackness is all that's left._

_ But why now? Why not before? _

_ I've been feeling better, more myself. I even found my brain working again when I looked at Conway's file. It felt . . . it felt like coming home, like it was a piece of a puzzle I've just now started putting back together. _

_ So why am I here?_

_ Umph. Oh, there's something solid. My hand searches then darts back. A splinter. I can feel it under my skin. Wood. A structure. Fingers tentatively reach out. _

_ It's a wall. _

_ I move to the left and my foot strikes something else. A step. No, two steps. My hands move again. _

_ A door. _

_ Up the steps I go, hands pressed against the wood. _

_"Hello?" I call. "Is anyone here?"_

_ Silence as deep as the dark meets me and so I make a fist and bang hard._

_ "Hello!"_

_ Nothing. Then . . . something. It sounds like a whimper._

_ "Hello! Who's there? Does anyone need help?" I hear someone's breath catch. "Hello!"_

_ ". . . gil . . ?"_

_ I freeze. It can't be. It sounds like . . ._

_ "Sara?"_

_ ". . . help . . . me . . ."_

_ My heart pounds against the confines of my chest, my legs have a hard time keeping straight and my stomach leaps into my throat. My God. Sara! I grope for the knob and turn it. Nothing. The door won't budge. Christ, it won't budge!_

_ "Sara! Open the door! It's locked! I can't get in!"_

_ ". . . he's gonna kill me . . ."_

_ Shivers run up my spine. "Who-who's going to kill you?" I ask as my hands frantically roam the door then the wall to find some other way in. "Sara? Is he there now? Sara!"_

_ It's then I find a sill then a window and I beat on it. It's as solid as the door. No vibration, no cracking. Jesus, Sara's in there. I've got to find a way in._

_ "Sara! Can you get to the door? Sara, talk to me!"_

_ "No, no, stay away! Get away from me!"_

_ "Sara!" I'm screaming now, fear rising like a tide. "Stay away from her you bastard!" _

_ Hastily, I return to the door and dip my shoulder, ramming against the wood. A lancing pain cuts across my back but it won't stop me. There's nothing but a mad desire to get inside and I ram again and again. Still nothing. Then a small light appears, popping into existence out of the corner of my eye, and I race back to the window and press my face to it. I can't find anyone else. No one but Sara. My eyes grow wide with fright.  
_

_ "No, no, no," comes out of me at the sight._

_ Sara . . . I can see her on the floor, her ankles tied together, her arms behind her back. There are bruises and blood everywhere. Her shirt is dirty and torn, her jeans are half off, her eyes glassy. I can't see anyone else but beat against the window again to get her attention.  
_

_ "SARA!" Those eyes look my way but they aren't truly focused. "SARA! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!"_

_ She frowns. "Gil?"_

_ "It's me, honey. Open the door. Please, open the door."_

_ "Can't move."_

_ "Try, honey. Try for me."_

_ I watch her struggle and I beat harder. Letting out a frustrated growl, I return to the door only to trip off the steps and land with a thud, my hand falling on something. A rock. Fingers wrap about it and back up the stairs I go, my newfound weapon striking the glass as hard as I can. Damnit! It's still intact!_

_ Crying out, I head back to the door, banging my rock against the solid wood, hearing no sound of splintering wood, no sound that would imply I'm doing anything but wrenching my arm out of its socket. I hear her cry out and move back to the window and I see a shadow moving along the wall. Panic seizes me._

_ "MOVE, SARA!_

_ She frowns at me as I gesture behind her. She turns then shrieks and finally moves, ever so slowly, along the floor toward me, but the shadow is faster covering her in an instant. She's lost to my sight but not my ears as her screams sear my insides prompting me to, once again, beat against the window, both hands now wrapped about the rock until it virtually disintegrates into dust. _

_ "GET AWAY FROM HER!" I yell for there's nothing else I can do. _

_I can't look but I can't look away either and all I can do is slam my hands against the window as I see her foot pop out from under the shadow as she struggles under its embrace, blood spattering the floor about her and against the glass._

"_DON'T HURT HER! PLEASE, DON'T HURT HER!" I scream until my voice is gone, tears streaming down my face as I watch my love fight to survive. _

_It can't be over. I can't lose her!_

_And with that thought comes anger so violent I don't even recognize that it's me propelling me back to the door where I slam against it, over and over again. My shoulder is mush, my arm is shattered, but still I fight to get inside, crying out my anguish at the top of my lungs until, magically, the door pops open and I tumble into the room, rolling headlong into a chair. Pushing it out of the way all I see is that shadow hunkered over my woman and what little sanity I have left escapes me._

"_GET OFF HER, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"_

_I leap, we collide and roll to the back of the room. He scurries away and I reach out, hoping to grab something and feel my fingers wrap about an ankle. Not so shadowy after all. I yank bringing him to his knees and all I see is red – a fiery color that spreads through me like wildfire leaving me out of control and deadly as my hand falls on a knife. Where it came from doesn't matter and I arc it high in the air bringing it down with the force of my anger behind it, over and over again, blood covering me from head to foot. I can vaguely hear myself chanting with each stroke - DIE YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER! DIE!_

_I've lost myself now. I've disappeared down the rabbit hole of dementia and hope there's something left when this shadow has disappeared to take hold of my love and keep her safe long into the night. And that's when I see his face and the canted smile of a deviant meets my startled gaze as he becomes nothing but smoke and the knife impales the floor. Breathing heavily, I push back, lost for a moment, my momentum stalled. _

_Sara._

_I turn, hands already reaching, only to find her . . . gone._

_Then the door slams shut and locks and an emptiness floods my being as I launch myself toward it, tears falling fast as I slide to the floor._

_I'm trapped._

_Alone._

_Sara._

_I want to scream out my pain and agony and loss and nothing stops me._

"_SARA!"_

**Paul**

Slipping my key into the lock, I quietly open Annie's front door and step inside, expecting to see Gil's fishing gear by the front door. But the quick question of why it's not there vanishes from my head when I hear the most God awful cry come from upstairs followed by Hank's bark and the very colorful phrase GET OFF HER, YOU FUCKING BASTARD.

Taking the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding, visions racing through my head of something happening to Annie, I race toward her door only to hear gasps coming from Gil's room instead. Throwing myself through his door, it bangs against the wall then into me since I've come to a flat stop watching him fight against a demon visible only to himself. Shaking myself into movement, I fly toward the bed, not sure where to grab as he flails, his cast now a lethal weapon. Dodging it a few times, I take the plunge and leap, managing to get behind him to wrap my arms about his struggling form.

"DIE YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER! DIE!" comes spilling from him as he further entwines himself into the blankets.

"It's okay, Gil," I say, not wanting to shout and aggravate him further. "You're okay. Wake up. Come on, boy, wake up."

"SARA!" he shouts around my words, our minor struggle turning into a scuffle.

He may be younger and stronger, but I'm wily and playing fair doesn't get you anywhere in a situation like this, so I grab a fair amount of skin under his arm and pinch. Hard. The resulting howl and sudden stopping of his movements slide us both off the bed and to the floor in a heap, right at the feet of Annie with an agitated Hank next to her.

My arm still secure about Gil's chest, I feel his heart race beneath it as his head falls back against my shoulder, his breaths slowing from breathless pants to intermittent gasps. I glance up at Annie's worried eyes.

"Gil? You back with us?" I ask as she kneels before him, placing a hand on his cheek.

"Honey, you're safe. You're safe," she says to him and he blinks open his eyes, trying to focus, suddenly stiffening.

"Sara! Where's Sara?" he says, a definite fear in his voice. He tries to push away from me but I hold fast.

"Sara's not here, Gil," I say. "You were dreaming."

"No-no. She's in trouble. I have to . . . I have to . . ."

"Gil!" Annie says, grabbing both sides of his face. I believe it's safe to say that was probably her 'come to Jesus' tone she'd used on him as a boy because he stopped fighting against me. "You were dreaming," she informs him.

He shakes his head. "She was here. He was attacking her. I have to save her!"

Annie holds tighter. "It was just a dream, honey. Just a bad dream." Gil doesn't say anything as he stares at Annie. "Just a dream, baby," she repeats.

She reaches for him and I let go, each grabbing hold of the other. I rub his back as he works to regain his composure, my eyes drifting over the floor to land on a manila folder, its photographic contents strewn about, and my breath catches at what they contain.

I can't seem to take my eyes from them and, from what I'm looking at, it's not much of a stretch to figure out what was after Gil as he slept. God, she was such a young girl – somebody's daughter, somebody's sister – torn to pieces. I'd never witnessed the light leaving anyone's eyes including my Dory's. She'd gone to sleep and never woke up. But this girl . . . Her eyes are wide open and there's nothing there, nothing left to show that life existed at all. If this is what he witnesses every day on the job . . . How can he do it, day in and day out, and still get up and do it again the next day? I understand now when he says he doesn't know if he can do it again. Maybe this was a sign that he can't. I shake my head. No telling what Gil can and will do. He's stronger than he thinks.

Finally, I forcefully pull my gaze from those photos and exchange glances with Annie who slowly releases Gil and eases him back.

"You okay?" she asks and he gives her a slow nod wiping at his face. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

I help him to his feet then let go. "I'll clean up in here," I inform Annie and watch them leave, Hank trailing after them.

Straightening up the bed and the fallen light along with his glasses, I move to retrieve the folder from the floor, tucking away those photos and placing it on the dresser. It's then I hear the mewling.

"Oh, Lord," I whisper trying to locate the sound. "Where are you guys?" I ask looking under the dresser then the bed. "Come out, come out wherever you are." I see a little paw reaching out from under the nightstand. "How'd you get under there,"

Kneeling down to tip the nightstand thinking I'd have to reach in and grab them, they bolt and take off across the room and out the door. Hurrying after the little buggers, I stop at the sight before me. Gil is sitting on the toilet, Annie squeezing out a washcloth to drape over his neck, Hank leaning against his leg. And the kids? Well, they're trying desperately to get into Gil's lap. I smile when he gently picks them up and snuggles them up to his chin.

I don't know if I should stay or go but decide to wait. It's too late to go fishing and I've nothing else planned. Besides this could be a breakthrough and that stubborn streak that's a mile wide in him might just let us talk him into calling Sara to see how she's doing. Who knows?

Gil's very complicated.

That's one of the reasons I like him.

**Annie**

I keep rubbing his back like I used to when he was small. I always figured if it gave me comfort it should do the same for him and he never asked me to stop in all the years I've been doing it. So that's what I'm doing now.

One of the fears of being deaf is that you can't come to a loved one's aid. Gil suffered from nightmares after his father died. It went on for months before I knew and that's always bothered me. I couldn't wake him because I couldn't hear him. I couldn't hold him tight because I didn't know he needed it. I couldn't say to him that everything was all right because he'd never tell me it wasn't.

I should've gotten a dog. At least that could've been my alarm system but what did I know? I'd lost my husband, I had no idea what to do, how to get through, and a dog seemed like extra work. If only I'd known then what I'd just found out there would've been a dog on site lickety split for it was an insistent pulling of the blankets that woke me this time, my bleary eyes staring straight into Hank's unhappy face. He chuffed and sprayed me with spittle and, as I was cleaning my face, ran to the door, stopped and looked over his shoulder. I was out of that bed so fast, I forgot to put on my slippers and robe as I followed him down the hall and into Gil's room only to see Paul wrestling with him on his bed. Shock was the minor feeling that made its way through my sleep riddled body. Distress, worry and a dash of fear where there first. Then along came anger when I caught sight of those photos strewn across the floor and didn't have to wonder what started this particular nightmare.

Damn Conway.

Dismissing those thoughts and focusing now on Gil, I sit on the side of the tub and proceed to do what I do best - give him reassurance and support and an ear (so to speak) to listen. Of course, knowing him, he'll sit here until the cows came home never opening his mouth. It's like four in the morning. I need my sleep.

"Honey, do you want to tell me about it?"

As I knew he would, he shakes his head. God, this fills me with so many memories of me sitting in the dark of a closet waiting for him to spill about whatever horrible thing happened that day. I grin.

"If I get some milk and cookies, shall we go sit in the closet?" I ask seeing a bit of a smirk as he cuddles the kids close to him with one hand while his other rests on Hank's head.

"I don't think we'll fit," comes his answer and I smile. He's right, of course. It was a lot easier when he was shorter.

"Probably," is all I say and wait some more. He looks away from me but not before I see tears creep down his cheek. "Why don't you call her?" I suggest and he shakes his head. "Why not?"

"I . . ." He turns toward me. I can see apprehension in his eyes. "I can't," is all he says.

My hand brushes tousled hair from his face, then I kiss his forehead, knowing the torment he feels of thinking he can't speak to her until he's got everything worked out in his head. It's probably not the time to tell him that that could take quite a long time, especially for him. Instead a flash of genius inspires me.

"What if you call Jim?" He's got that puzzled look on his face and it occurs to me he's probably wondering where that came from. Think fast, Annie. "Isn't he a good friend, the one who thinks of Sara as a daughter?"

He nods and the puzzlement clears.

Saved.

"He _is_ a good friend," Gil finally admits.

"And he'd understand your worry."

"But it was only . . . It was just a dream." He grimaces at the word and I feel a tremor move through him.

"It scared you, Gil," I say. "Are you still scared?"

His mouth opens then closes and there's a slight shrug followed by a very shy nod like he's afraid to admit that whatever it was scared the piss out of him; like there'll be some rebounding curse that'll make it all come true if he speaks of it.

"Call Jim." He says something but I miss it so I grab his chin and pull his face toward me, an expectant look on my own.

"What, what if it's true?" he says.

Ah.

"Don't torment yourself, Gil. Call Jim. He'll tell you the truth. In fact, you might think it's a good thing he hasn't called you already." He frowns then. "Don't you think if something happened to Sara, you'd be the first person he'd call?" His frowns leaves as the words sink in. "Call Jim."

He gives me a sort of nod then slowly rises, the kids held closely while his other hand clasps mine. "Sit with me?" he asks.

"You know I will."

As we leave the bathroom to return to his room, I see Paul by the window and am glad he stayed.

"I can go, Gil, if you'd like me to," he says.

He shakes his head. "No."

"All right. What do you want me to do?"

Gil eyes him for a moment. "Wait with me?"

Paul smiles and sits down in the overstuffed chair by the dresser. "I can do that."

I silently thank Paul then sit down on the bed. Hank hops up as Gil takes a seat next to me, placing the kids on his pillow then turning to stare at the phone. I won't urge him on. It's something _he_ has to do.

Releasing my hand, he reaches out and I see that hand tremble. He pulls back and closes his eyes for a moment before starting again, grabbing the receiver and quickly dialing.

As he waits I pray that Sara is all right, that it _was_ all a dream as I've been telling him.

God, please let it just be a dream.

**Brass**

"How did we catch you." I don't think my tone can get anymore incredulous or sarcastic. "How did we catch you?" Oh, yeah. It can.

"I have a right to know," comes back at me and, for a second or two, I'm at a loss.

I trade looks with Lou Vartann and shake my head, rub my eyes and plaster a fake smile across my lips. Here goes.

"How did we catch you, Leon? Let me count the ways. One," I start holding up a finger, "you have the victim's blood all over you. Two," here comes another finger, "you took a picture with your phone and, three - and I'll always be thankful for three, Leon - the first thing you said to me when I found you wrapping the body in plastic was 'I thought I'd have time to hide the body'. Three reasons, Leon," I say holding up my three fingers directly in front of his face. "Three. That about covers it."

"But, hey, like you scared the shit outta me when you came bustin' in the door. I wasn't ready yet."

I really don't have an answer for that.

"You forgot number four, Jim," Lou says to me and I turn a quizzical look toward him. "He's stupid."

I have to cough to cover up the laugh that bubbles out of me and turn away from Leon.

"Take him away," I order after managing some semblance of control. Ah, if only all our crimes were this easy.

"My pleasure, Cap," Lou answers with a smile, slapping on the cuffs about Leon's blood soaked wrists before hauling him toward a waiting squad car.

"Hey, am I gonna get my phone back?" Leon yells.

I open my mouth to provide him with a dose of my encyclopedic knowledge of curse words then decide against it. It would be a waste of good lung power and would, no doubt, upset the fine equilibrium I've found this day. Besides, I'm hungry and it'll only sour my stomach. I think a greasy spoon hamburger would fit the bill right about now.

Well, that thought quickly leaves as my phone rings and I stare up at the early morning sky and wonder what would actually happen if I didn't answer it. Would the sky fall as the Sheriff likes to say?

"Shit," I mutter knowing I won't be able to ignore it and hold up the offending item to my ear. "Brass," bluntly comes out.

"Ah, hey, Jim. It's . . ."

"Gil! How's the California boy?" I say around a big smile. I can't believe he's calling me. I thought for sure I'd just look up one day and he'd be standing in my office.

"Okay," is all he says and my smile wavers a bit. He sounds shaky.

"What do you need, my friend?" I ask, all business as I head toward my car, food forgotten as I slip inside and shut the door. I want to make sure nothing interrupts what he has to say.

"I'm . . ."

He falters and I sit up a bit straighter. He only ever does that, falter, I mean, when he's at a loss. Something's happened. Oh God, I hope it's not Annie.

"It's okay, Gil. I'm here. What's the matter?"

"Um, do you . . . Is . . . Is Sara okay?"

I relax into my seat and look out at the flashing lights and growing throng of gawkers. "Yeah. I just left her about 30 minutes ago in the breakroom. Why? What's wrong?"

"The breakroom?" Now he's confused. I know that tone as well.

"Yeah. She was making a cup of peppermint tea. Something about a bad plate of tofu or something." There's a long silence. Wait. Catherine must not have told him. "She's been back with us since right after you left. I've been watching over her, Gil, making sure she's okay."

"Oh. Ah, is she?"

"As much as can be expected."

"What does that mean?"

I sigh. I'll never learn to keep my mouth shut so why start now. "She's fine, Gil. But she's missing you."

A deep quiet follows and I rub at my face. I've got to stick with this and pray he doesn't hang up. Then I hear it, soft and barely audible, but I've fine hearing.

"I-I miss her."

I pump the air with my fist but keep that particular emotion away from my voice. "She wants to prove to you she's worth it."

"She's always been worth it," comes back a bit stronger and a spark of hope dangles itself in front of my eyes and I go with it.

"Then come home. She loves you, Gil. She always has and always will despite the hiccups along the way and I know you feel the same."

More quiet. I wait.

"I'm not . . . I'm not ready. I'm sorry."

I grin. "You've nothing to be sorry for, Gil. Don't ever be sorry for how you feel. I've never known you to rush into anything. Don't start now when it's so important to get it right."

"Thank you, Jim, for being there when-when I can't."

"You _are_ here, Gil. There's not a moment goes by when you're name isn't mentioned, when your lessons pay off and a criminal is caught. You _are_ us, Gil, and we just want you to be happy no matter how long it takes."

I think he might be smiling. If he is I've accomplished another good deed tonight. I'm on fire!

"You'll take care of her until . . . until I can?"

Now _I'm_ smiling. "You know you don't have to ask, Gil, but, since you did, I will keep the home fires burning and Sara in my sight at all times. I swear on my oath as a member of Gene Autry's fan club."

"Roy Rogers was better," he quips and I laugh, ever so pleased at the re-emergence of our longstanding 'who was the better cowboy' feud.

"Ah, you only say that because you own part of Trigger."

"Yeah, I do."

He sounds kind of smug but I let him get away with it for now. We can argue the merits of our childhood heroes when all of this is a distant memory.

"I mean it, Gil," I say sobering up a bit. "I'll take good care of her for you. Don't worry about that. Worry about sorting things out and coming home as soon as you're able."

"I . . . That means so very much, Jim."

"That's what friends are for and that's what you are to me, Gil. A good friend that I want to keep around for a long while. Will you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Stay in touch. Keep me in the loop on what's going on with you and how you're doing? Can you do that for me because I worry, too, you know. My gruff demeanor is only for show. I'm really just a teddy bear."

He gives me a soft laugh and I grin and feel a 100% better than I did when this call started.

"I'll try and remember that _you're_ waiting too," he finally says and I nod.

"That's enough for me."

"You're a good friend."

"I am aren't I?" I hear him chuckle. "Feel better?"

"Yeah. Um, I'll call you when . . ."

"When you can. I know. Don't promise, just do."

"I think I can do that. Well, bye then."

"Bye yourself. Tell Annie hello and thank her for being there."

"Everyday. Bye, Jim."

"Gil."

I hear the soft click and he's gone and I wonder, briefly, what happened that scared him so. I start the engine and my mind heads back toward that hamburger when it occurs to me that I probably won't have to wonder too long. Annie's become a regular Emailer. And I'll just bet there'll be one waiting for me when I get home.

**Grissom**

I drop the receiver back into place and rub at my burning eyes, feeling wiped out like I've run a marathon.

"Gil?" Mom says to me and I quickly look up. "Is Sara okay?"

I give her a tired smile. "She's okay. She's back at work. Jim is . . . He's taken it upon himself to look after her."

"That's good, good," she says and smiles back at me and I suddenly feel very foolish that I let a dream frighten me so.

I must be blushing or looking sheepish or something because she's leaning over me kissing my forehead again. I really love that. It's very comforting. I hear Paul move behind me and turn to look at his smiling face.

"I'm glad things worked out, Gil. And don't ever be ashamed of following through on a gut feeling no matter if it came to you in a dream or a fortune cookie. You can never be too careful, especially where your heart is concerned."

"Thanks, Paul." Now I really am blushing.

"Well, I'm going home," he says starting toward the door. "Why don't you two come over later, about 5:00 or so, and we can play some poker, order in pizza or Chinese. We'll play for Oreos."

It then occurs to me that I screwed up our daily fishing trip and open my mouth to apologize when he points toward the window.

"It's started to rain, Gil. I'm glad we aren't stuck out on a boat. The sea spray in my face is a hell of a lot different than being pelted with rain. Besides," he says with a grin, "you'd ruin your nice new purple cast."

He waggles his brows and I narrow my eyes waiting for another dig. Instead he just laughs and I find myself smiling.

"I'll let myself out."

And off he goes. I pick up mom's hand and hold on tightly. "Mom, I . . ."

"You are loved, Gil, don't ever forget that," she begins, a warm smile directed my way. "By me, by Paul, by the remaining Fab Five members . . . _(I grin at that)_ . . . your team, Jim and, especially, Sara. We all want what's best for you and only you know the answer to that. You may not be able to forget how that dream scared you or how you felt when you thought she was gone, but always remember how it felt when Jim told you she was all right? Hold onto that, honey. Fight for that when the dreams come or your memories of what happened try to overtake you. Can you do that for me?"

I look down at our hands then back up to her and it seems as if something has lifted from me. I don't know what or question the feeling. It's something I haven't felt since before all of this started. I've missed it and I want it to stay.

"I can try," I answer and realize I mean it.

"That's all a mother can ask."

We grin at each other and suddenly I yawn and she's off the bed in a flash pulling down the covers and scooting me under them, Hank barely moving out of the way as the kids crawl off the pillow and down my shoulder to settle on my chest. She reaches for the light then looks back at me.

"Should I leave this on?" she asks and I can see a flash of worry on her face.

"No. I know Sara's okay. I think that'll be enough to fight off any more bad dreams."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I give her even though there's a bit of me that cringes at what may wait behind closed eyes.

"Okay. Sleep tight. Send Hank for me if you need anything."

"I will. Night." She smiles again then turns off the light and silently slips from the room.

I gaze at the ceiling, listening to the rain hit the side of the house. Moving onto my side, I curl my hand about the kids and take them with me. They mew their displeasure then settle back down, my other hand on one of Hank's paws. He snuffles and lays down his head and we all close our eyes and my mind instantly shifts back to that shadow but it's pushed aside by something else, something much brighter then that dark entity. _'She loves you, Gil,' _floats through and my eyes slide back open.

I've had a hard time believing that. When she said that to me in the store it was what I needed but, after my brain kicked in, I wasn't sure it was said with the meaning I'd wanted and locked that part away. It was too painful to examine. To agonizing to think on.

But now those words seem different. Perhaps it's because they're coming from someone else, someone I trust with something that appears to still be extremely important to me despite all my misgivings.

Can I put aside everything that's happened?

Do I chalk it up to the steep learning curve of loving another human being, something I'm not really versed in?

I sigh, a long drawn out affair, and stare at Hank blissfully snoring without a care in the world. His deep breaths wash over me quieting my mind and drawing me closer toward sleep when, of all times, a quote comes wafting into being.

_ 'There is no love without forgiveness and no forgiveness without love.*'_

The side of my mouth tugs as I recall a comment from more than one person in my lifetime about the seemingly endless supply of quotes I've tucked away and the answer to the last question, still sitting on my brain, seems to be closer to the surface.

Is it wishful thinking that I can forgive her for hurting me because she did hurt me so badly?

My entire conversation with Jim is my answer or at least part of it. If I was done with her, the dream wouldn't have mattered as much as it did. If I was bound and determined to tell her that she's on her own, I wouldn't have felt such relief when he told me she was all right.

Would I?

I rub my eyes. Questions, always questions. Too many questions still.

I'm not ready to run home, gather her up in my arms and forget all about it. But I do recognize a razor thin sensation of what I used to feel before all of this. I want to grab hold but I'm cautious, not wanting to experience its loss again but I know, deep down, it's what I truly want. So I grasp it and hold on tightly, making sure it won't slip through my fingers again, at least not willingly.

It's raining harder now. The wind's picked up. I can tell by the curtains billowing slightly. I should check to see if anything's coming in but my eyes are steadily closing, that feeling still hanging on as I settle into sleep, my last thought wondering and hoping if it'll still be there tomorrow. I truly hope it is.

* * *

_* The quote is from Bryant H. McGill_

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed this part. I just love Brass! _

_As stated at the top intro, this part will roll into the next part since it didn't seem to flow if I switched back to LV in Part 17. The new part is in its first draft stage and it SHOULD (unless the characters take over again) speak on the revelation I promised._

_Again I want to thank everyone for reading and reviewing and providing me with help when I need it. You are all truly inspiring. Thanks! :-D  
_


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you to Moonstarer, TessTrueHeart, My Kate, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, Nancy1, was spratlurid quimby, NickyStokes and spotted horse. I'm so glad you enjoyed Brass in the last chapter because he's one of my favorites and a joy to write and will be back next time. (At least he's there in the current draft of Part 18. We'll see if he can hang on.)_

_This part contains the revelation I was hinting at in the comments at the end of Part 15. I hope you enjoy._

_And remember to get on over to CSI Forever Online for your daily dose of CSI. It's a fun place to stay awhile.  
_

_Onward ~_**  
**

* * *

**Part 17**

**Annie**** - 11:30am**

I feel something on the back of my leg and quickly turn to see Hank's smiling face. Yes, he really is smiling. I then notice the kids moving carefully down each step until they hit the floor and run toward him to wind about his legs. I relax since none of them seem distressed realizing it's only been an hour since I stopped watching the stairs waiting for Hank to come bound down in search of me to stop another of Gil's nightmares. He's been asleep for almost seven hours. I should get him up or he'll never sleep tonight. Drying off my hands, I turn back to the stairs only to see him descending. I catch his eye and smile.

"Feel better?" I sign as he nears kissing me on the cheek, dropping Conway's file on the counter.

"Much," he admits getting himself some juice from the fridge.

"I've made some tuna salad. Would you like some?"

He pauses and his eyes take on a faraway look. It only lasts a moment and then he's back with me and nods. "Sounds wonderful."

I sneak a peek at him as he sits at the table, Hank moving to sit next to him, the kids reaching up his leg getting picked up for their efforts, kissed on their heads and put back down only to follow it up with a rub to Hank's head. He loves all of them so.

"Where did you find that shirt?" I ask depositing a sandwich before him, hiding a slight grin at my perfect choice of T-shirt that, quite literally, fell into my lap while I was at the mall.

"'Carpe Insectum'" he recites rubbing a hand across the oversized letters above the bug decal emblazoned across the shirt. "Seize the insect. It's odd, you know," he says looking up at me.

"What is?" I innocently ask sitting across from him with a sandwich of my own.

Pursing his lips, he tilts his head a bit. "I've never seen this shirt before yet, mysteriously, it is the only one I could find. Seems all my others are in the laundry."

"Really?"

"Really," he says with a slight smirk. "Care to explain?"

I shrug. "It's Wednesday," I explain taking a bite of my sandwich. "Laundry day." I stuff more in my mouth as his brows rise. "Shirts only," I sign, my mouth too full to speak.

Eyes narrow thenhis mouth opens and closes and I have to slap a hand over my own in order to not spew tuna across the table and dirty his only shirt as I begin to laugh. I see him smile and, with a shake of his head, he to laughs before picking up his sandwich and taking a big bite, signing 'very good' as he chews.

This is nice, the two of us sitting around laughing, especially after this morning's activities. I thought he'd be quieter, more reluctant to even face me, but I feel that things have changed. Not a big, earth moving change but enough.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," I say, dusting crumbs off my hands and moving to the counter to retrieve a copy paper sized box, returning it to the table. "This came for you today. It's from Catherine."

"Catherine?" he says as he stands to read the return address. I hand him my knife and he slices through the tape holding down the lid to peer inside.

"What is it?" I ask as he begins rummaging through the contents. "It's not work is it?"

"Looks like my office mail and some from the house. Bills and such," he signs to me.

"That was very thoughtful of Catherine," I say instead of what I'm really thinking which is she better _not_ have sent him work. I don't want a repeat of this morning. The further his attention is pulled from that dream the better.

But I can't say that so I silently watch as he pulls out letter after letter with magazines following and large manila envelopes crammed with stuff along with flyers and newsletters. I'm amazed.

"You sure get a lot of mail."

"Most of it's junk," he signs as he begins to sort.

I watch him carefully as what he deems junk is tossed into the box while all the others are placed into neat piles. "Which will you start with?" I ask.

"Not the bills," he signs with a grin pushing them off to the side then picks up an envelope from a stack of five. "I don't know who these are from so I'll start here."

Using his thumb to open it, he pulls out a folded piece of lined paper. I can see his eyes falling across the words then notice the color rise in his face as he quickly crumples up the paper and angrily throws it into the box. I don't say anything only watch as he eyes the remaining four envelopes, grabs one, opens it and pulls out bright pink paper only to crush it moments later and send it after the first one, soon followed by the remaining two. He raises a hand to his forehead to hide his eyes and sits quietly.

Taking advantage of his silence I retrieve the pink ball of paper and hastily pull it apart taking in the scrawl and the words there.

_Dear Dr. Grissom, I saw you on the video in the store and thought you were hot. If you'd asked me to shoot you I'd've been more than willing to pull your trigger. Call me - 544-6790 - Pink Lady Jane_

A fan letter. The wrong kind of a fan letter but a fan letter just the same. It's rather chilling that there are people out there who think like this. I wonder how many of these he and his team get?

He's moving again and I drop the letter back into the box seeing him reach for another pile of letters and oversized packages. I can see Harvard University plain as day on one of them and feel an excitement about it. To think that Harvard is corresponding with my boy, well, that makes a mother proud. But then I notice his jaw clench and his eyes narrow as he slowly refolds the letter and sticks it back into its envelope, letting it fall to the table his eyes moving back to scan the remaining items. I can see UCLA, Williams, UNLV and Scientific American adorning the envelopes and packages but he doesn't move to open them. In fact he seems frozen. I'm sorry but my curiosity is piqued and I'm not ashamed to be nosy or pushy. I'm a mother. That's what we do.

"Aren't you going to open them?" I ask. He doesn't answer so I tap his hand finally rewarded with the lifting of sad eyes. "Gil, aren't you going to open them?"

"Why? I know what they'll say."

I pick up the Harvard letter. "May I?" I ask and he shrugs.

Carefully, I open the letter.

_Dr. Grissom, we are sorry to inform you that the speaking engagement we scheduled you for has been canceled. We offer our apologies for the short notice and hope to retain your expertise at another date._

"They don't say why they canceled."

"I know why," he answers.

I look at the letter again then back to him. "But aren't there many reasons why they'd cancel a lecture?" He shrugs again. "You should call them and find out."

"No."

"Why not? You have a right to know."

"I already know why. I asked a man to kill me, Mom. I wouldn't want that person at my school either."

"I'm going to call," I say pushing back my chair.

"Please don't," he says, signing it as well. I can see the desperation on his face. "I . . . I don't really want to know that that's the reason okay?"

"Because?" I ask sitting back down.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Because if it is what I believe, then I'm . . . If it is then I know it's all over. I don't have the wherewithal to start again."

I take his hand in mind. "You have the capacity to start over if necessary, Gil. Don't sell yourself short. You're a brilliant man. You're a wonderful teacher. Only fools would think less of you now."

"But those fools have far reaching contacts," he says, eyes casting across the rest of the mail.

"Well, we'll never know until we open these," I give him, releasing his hand to grab the nearest stack.

Quickly, he stands, not looking me in the eye. "I'm going for a walk," he signs heading for the door, Hank nearly running him over in his haste to go with him. Gil grabs the leash from the sidetable and the two disappear behind the screen door.

It's then I remember the kids, hoping they didn't get caught in the door, only to find them happily preoccupied with the crumpled pink ball in the box. How they managed to climb up and in is a mystery and one I'll have to ignore because I've got more important things to worry about. I have a stubborn son. I need to take charge. There has to be some good news in this mess or else I'm going to have a bunch of trouble that I thought was being left behind.

Taking a deep breath, I get to work. I'll show him that his life is still his own even if it kills me.

**Grissom**

You know how you're pretty certain that the moon will rise each night barring any and all cataclysmic events? Or how if you eat a box of Twinkies you're bound to gain a bit of weight? That's how certain I am that my little 'incident' in the store would dog my heels until a dirt nap was all I had left. I just didn't think it would hurt this much.

"I just didn't think," I say aloud to anyone who'll listen. A soft bark reminds me I'm not alone and I rub Hank's head. "I didn't," I direct to him.

Yeah, that's right. I just didn't think at all and now . . . and now I'm a leper, the Typhoid Mary of scientists who disappear into the woodwork and become hermits or work at K-Mart tucked away in the backroom restocking shelves.

"God, what a mess I've made of things," comes next.

I notice Hank looking up at me with those soulful eyes that say to me I want to help. Silly as that may sound, I believe him and figure he's been doing a pretty good job so far why not continue.

"Why would Sara want me back?" I ask of him. He chuffs a bit. "But what do I have to offer now? No income, no job, no . . . no reputation to fall back on. Hmm."

He whines a bit and I'm suddenly hit with the realization of how important my reputation is to me. I never appreciated that fact.

"Maybe because it was always there and didn't seem very hard to obtain." He barks at that. "God, you're right. That makes me sound like an arrogant ass. I don't think of myself like that. I wonder if others do?" I swear he shook his head which actually made me feel a bit better.

Jesus. I don't like all this debate with myself. It only brings up more questions and fewer answers. I told Paul I'd lost the respect of my colleagues and, yet, Jim didn't seem bothered by any of it. He just wants me home, back at my post, back amongst friends he'd said who all missed me. Even Sara.

"Sara," I whisper. Hank snuffles at the name and I smile at him.

She of the lovely brown eyes and soft skin who makes a tuna sandwich just like mom. I remember the heartache of knowing I'd probably never taste hers again as I left our home for what I feared might be the last time. And, until I opened those letters from some, some psycho, then followed it up with Harvard dumping me, I was hoping to see sooner rather than later. Rubbing at my eyes, my fingers come away wet and that just makes it worse. I never used to cry. Oh, once in awhile, but never fall down blubbering like I've done recently.

"Christ, I'm like a fountain, a-a leaking pipe, a faucet. This is ridiculous. I'm surprised mom doesn't strap a Kleenex box to my belt every time I leave the house. Catherine's right. I'm a drama queen!"

Hank whines at me as my voice rises. He looks worried and I kneel beside him.

"I hate this," I say to him. "I hate that everything gets to me. I hate that I've lost faith in myself. I hate that I feel like that little boy again that was bullied because I was smart. There was a reason I stuffed all my emotions into a box and locked them away. _This_ is the reason," I say pointing at myself. "This is what I've been trying to avoid all these years but here I am, right smack dab in the middle of . . ."

What do I call it?

Midlife crisis wafts into my brain and I quickly push that away. A bad month? God, has it been a month already? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Yeah, it was the wrong place and time all right. Maybe it's something simple like smack dab in the middle of shit happens or that's the way it is. I rub my forehead and groan. This feeling sorry for myself is for the birds. It takes way too much energy and if Jim or Al were here they'd kick me in the butt and tell me to snap out of it.

Hank licks my hand and I grab the sides of his face and plant a kiss on his nose making him snuffle. "You're right. We should stay here. Paul could put me to work rescuing animals. Or I could spend my days fishing or . . . Hey, what about running my own fishing boat. You like to go fishing. We'd be up early and out before the sun then back by the afternoon smelling like bait instead of decomp. We could have normal lives. No one would ask any questions of me then. I could cease being Gil Grissom, the 'man who asked someone to kill him' and become Captain Gil, fishing boat proprietor and businessman, with his faithful dog, Hank."

I'm smiling and Hank's barking. I take that as a good sign. I feel a lightness return. "So what do you think, boy? Shall we stay here in California full time?" I ask. He barks again then licks my face and I laugh, not the dry hysterical laugh of a demented fool. (Well, not yet anyway.) "Come on, Hank. Let's go tell mom the good news."

She'll be so pleased that I'm home to stay. I just know it.

c-c-c-c-c-c-c

"You're what?" she shouts as I tell her the good news.

It flusters me, that tone, that anxious look, and my happy grin slowly fades. I thought she'd be pleased.

"I-I'm staying here . . . in California. I'm going to buy a fishing boat and charter day trips."

"Where did _that_ come from?"

"Well, Hank and I thought over what you said about me being able to start over and you were right. I _can_ start over and I plan to do it here." I feel the smile coming back. I _can_ do this.

"Well, that's fine but a-a fishing boat?"

"Why not?" I ask. "I really enjoy fishing and being out with the guys. I could make a little money and not have to worry about anything but buying gas and bait."

"And insurance, and a first mate and, not to mention, a boat without a leaky hull."

"Of course all of that. But once that's done it's off to sea we go."

Her hands are on her hips and she has a hard look about her. You don't really have to be too smart to figure out that she's not too taken with my idea. I don't know why. It seems sound.

"I thought you'd be happy with me staying in California," I throw in with a slight pout. It seems to work since her look softens.

"Oh, Gil, I would love it if you came to live here again. You know that. But not if you're just running away."

"I'm not." Petulant. That sounded petulant.

"Yes, you are."

Damnit! "Am not," I add lamely. God, I hate it when she's right!

All my ecstatic feelings plummet to my feet as I give up the pretense that I'd be truly happy owning a fishing boat, dealing with fishermen all day long, wondering at the skyrocketing prices of gas and bait, and listening to the whines and complaints when the fish aren't running. Hank leans against my leg and I know he knows it too. I look up when I feel her hand on my arm.

"I don't mean to spoil your news but I know you. You'd never be happy doing something like that for a job because that's what it would become - a job. I want you to do what you enjoy doing and, if you make a little money along the way, that's even better."

"But I like to fish," I whine.

"And you like bugs. Carpe Insectum remember." I kinda sorta nod and she smiles at me. "I've got something to show you. Are you willing to sit down for a moment?"

Heaving a heavy sigh I follow her to the table where the jumble of mail has turned into three neat stacks. Looking up at her she signs 'sit' and points to the same chair I vacated earlier. I really, really don't want to do this.

"Mom . . ." I start. She glares at me. I quietly sit.

"Okay," she begins taking the seat across from me. "While you were gone, I took the liberty of opening your mail. Sue me," she adds before I have a chance to complain, pointing to the stack on my left. "This one consists of two – are you listening – TWO cancellations. Harvard and Boston University. Boston was kind enough to enclose the reason they had to cancel and it had nothing to do with you. They've also provided two other dates if you are available. Harvard is just rude. But I'll bet you dollars to donuts you'll be invited back before the end of next year."

"Mom, this really isn't necessary."

"Yes, it is because this stack," she says dropping her hand on the largest one, "has all the requests for your presence."

There must be six or seven letters and envelopes there. I try not to act interested. "What's the, ah, second stack?"

"Article requests. Scientific American, Smithsonian, National Geographic, Ranger Rick, and something called Forensic Magazine."

"It's an online magazine." Wow, Ranger Rick. I've always wanted to write something for them.

"Now, would you like to know who wants you to come visit?"

"Well . . ." I clear my throat, trying to keep my face as non-emotional as I possibly can which is proving quite difficult what with the growing mass of excitement in my gut.

"There are requests from Williams, UCLA, UNLV, The Phoenix University and Virginia Tech Entomology along with queries from three conferences and two seminars on the subject of . . ." She refers to a handwritten page of lined paper. ". . . Criminalistics, Entomology and the bee problem." She looks up at me then. "So, with all of this going on I don't think you'll have time to run your fishing enterprise."

I can't believe it. I've never had this many at once before. This is unheard of. It's . . . It's . . . Wait. Maybe these came before the 'incident'. I wasn't keeping up on anything for awhile then. These could've been sitting on my desk for who knows how long. Hastily, I grab the top letter.

"I know what you're looking for," Mom says and I glance up as she plucks the letter from my hand. "They're all dated at least a week _after_ the 'incident'."

"A week?"

"At least. I'd like to read some of these to you if I may. This one's from Wilten Farnish. _'Dear, Gil, It's been a long time but I've never forgotten what you taught me while I was working at the morgue those two summers in L.A. oh so long ago. Now I'm a tenured Professor and would love to have you come speak to my students about all the grisly things you do. Please say yes. Wilt.'_

"Here's another. _'Dear Dr. Grissom, we would be honored if you would consider teaching a symposium on whatever you choose.'_ Or this one_. 'Dear Dr. Grissom, we heard that you might be interested in coming to our annual Jeopardy themed lecture series. My students who've attended your lectures claim you know a bit of everything. Please come and prove it.'_"

She puts down the letters and looks at me.

"People are clamoring for your attention, Gil. They want to pay you to stand up and speak, to teach new minds all that you know. That doesn't sound like a washed up scientist to me. It sounds like someone who has a lot to share and does it well. Don't lose sight of that through all of this. _You_ are a great man with a lot to offer and these people know it."

I'm filled with, I don't know, embarrassment, as I think over my dramatics. A fishing boat. What a mess that would be. I can't even get my paperwork done at work. How could I possibly run a fishing boat? I feel a smile coming on. It's much the same as when I fell on that boat idea but this one is different somehow. It's a true smile that reaches my insides.

"And to think I birthed you," comes at me and I know I'm blushing.

"Mom."

"What? I can't say nice things about my boy? Besides it's my job to make you blush. I'm very good at it."

"Yes, you are."

"Well, let me end all of this with there's not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that this will double or triple on you if you decide to step away from CSI and maybe teach or consult full time. Then you'll probably . . ."

And her words fade out as a roar overtakes them and I'm thrust back into my dream watching myself wrestle that shadow to the ground, feeling the need to kill him rush through me again. And then he turned. He turned and I saw his face. I hadn't recognized him before but this time . . . this time . . .

This time I know who it is.

"Gil!" comes at me in a loud voice close to my ear pushing away the roar, and I start, eyes flying up to mom's concerned face, my breath catching in my throat. "What's wrong?" she asks, fear on her face.

"I . . ." is all that comes out as I begin searching for that file, Conway's file. I brought it down this morning . . .

There, on the counter.

Moving quickly, I snatch it up and pour over it again and what hadn't popped out at me last night nearly pokes my eyes out today.

"God," I mutter looking up and into her uneasy gaze. "It's him."

"Who?"

"I didn't recognize . . . I didn't notice the MO was the same."

"Gil, who are you talking about?"

"He's here. He's here in California."

"_Who_ is here?" I hesitate, looking back at the file for one last chance to be wrong and find I'm not. She touches my arm and I look up. "Gil?"

"The one who started all this mess. The reason I'm here." She gives me an exasperated look and I realize I've not said his name. "Jeremy Roberts. It's Jeremy Roberts."

* * *

_I'm sure you were all expecting that but I thought it was cool when it popped into my head. Now, he can face the man who unknowingly shattered his life. What will he do about it? Hmm. Food for thought. (I accept any and all suggestions.)  
_

_I hope you enjoyed this part. Next we're back in LV Please review. Thanks and happy weekend. :-D  
_


	18. Chapter 18

_Thanks to all of you for continuing to following this piece. It does my heart good that you're still out there. Thanks to: Nancy1, My Kate, NickyStokes, spottedhorse, TessTrueHeart, msjorjafox, gsrfan34 and was spratlurid quimby. I hope the reveal in the last part wasn't too expected_**.**

_This piece ran a bit long so I've split it into Parts 18 & 19. I hope you enjoy_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 18 **

**Catherine**** - 3 days later**

"Catherine." Even through a door, Ecklie's voice grates. "I saw you go in."

I know he saw me. I know he'll come in. I know I have to face him. But I really don't want to talk to him in person if I can avoid it.

"Catherine? I'm coming in."

Here goes nothing. "Before you do can you get some tampons for the dispenser. I'm about to use the last one."

Wait for it . . .

"I'll, ah . . . Take your time. I'll wait."

That makes me smile as I turn to the mirror imagining the red hue to his face right at this moment. It's such a joy to mess with Ecklie. With Gil you have to really catch him off guard to get him flustered (although it's fun to try), but with Ecklie, just winking at him makes him fumble about searching for a need to be elsewhere at that very moment.

Ah, the joys of life.

I slowly run fingers through my hair and straighten my shirt, running a finger over my front teeth to rid them of any lipstick. I debate with myself if I should be tossing away an empty tampon container while I open the door just to get him further then dismiss it. No, I'll save that for the next time he calls me into his office.

Schooling my features, I ready myself for a performance, and open the door, breezing by him.

"You'll have to walk with me, Conrad. I've been paged to a scene," I say trying not to grin as he scurries up behind me.

"I need to know why you sent the Jeremy Roberts file to L.A."

What? No foreplay, no candy, no dinner? Just right to the point. Oh, that is so on the tip of my tongue. Keep it inside. Keep it inside.

"Because Director Germen asked for it," comes out instead.

"He called you directly?"

I don't have to see his face to know I made a direct hit. I can hear it in his voice.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" I ask as Wendy hands me a document to sign.

"I just didn't know you knew him," Ecklie lamely says.

"I don't," I answer scribbling my name and handing the paper back to Wendy before starting down the hallway again.

"Then how . . ."

I stop and turn on him. He barely manages not to crash into me. "Grissom called me and asked for it."

His eyes widen and his mouth flops open. "He called you." I nod. "Why didn't you say . . ."

"He asked me to send the Roberts file to L.A. then said goodbye. The call lasted all of two minutes."

"Is he working a case?"

"I don't know."

"Is he moving to L.A.?"

"I don't know."

"Why didn't you send the call to me?"

I just stare at him. "As I recall you tried to get him fired after what happened so why would I send him to you?"

"Because I'm his boss and all information sharing with other CSI agencies should go through me. That's called protocol, Catherine."

"That's called getting your face on T.V. to take credit for other people's work, something you're very familiar with."

"Watch it, Catherine."

"Or what? You'll fire me? Who would take care of everything then?"

"Catherine . . ."

"Look, Conrad. I'm up to my ass in work, the paperwork on my desk has a life of its own and I'm late to a scene. If you want to know why Director Germen didn't call you directly then ask him yourself. If you want to know why Grissom didn't call you directly call him. Or, better yet, ask Brass. Maybe he can tell you something I can't."

"Brass?"

I fling him a look of disgust and leave him in the hallway, duck into Gil's office for my kit and head out as quickly as I can. I'm out of the parking lot in record time and, only then, relax against the seat.

I think I pulled it off. Lying, I mean. Yeah, I heard from Gil and it lasted longer than two minutes, but Conrad doesn't need to know that. Well, I guess he does since he's our boss but I'm not going to tell him. He doesn't deserve to know nor does he need to worry Gil when he sounded so much better. I won't allow Ecklie or anyone else to take advantage. It's the least I can do. Besides, it was so very nice to speak with Gil. I've been hoping he'd call, that he'd let me tell him how much I miss him and I got my chance three days ago. It still makes me smile, that conversation. It was so unlike Gil but it pleased me just the same.

It had been a slow shift so I'd ensconced myself in his office to try and work through the load of paperwork that littered his desk. At least I had it organized into piles - urgent, important and not so much - and all of them were the same size. It made me want to tear my hair out. But it had to be done so I got to work. And during that shift, Ecklie's name appeared on my phone four times and each time I ignored it. He was out of the building. In fact he was in another state so I didn't have to worry that he would track me down. I just smiled and went back to work. I'd been doing this all week, avoiding him, I mean because all he wanted to know was if I'd heard from Gil. I didn't know how many different ways I could say no and, I believe, I'd already used them all.

Surprisingly, I'd left exactly at the end of shift and headed out to do my chores - grocery shopping, car wash, errands for my mother and myself - until I made it home nearly five hours later, unloaded the car and headed over to Lindsey's school. I could, at least, get in an hour of mother-daughter time before I had to head off to bed and start all over again.

Parking in front of her school, I sat there for a bit soaking in the sunshine, hoping Lindsey had had a good day, when my phone rang. Looking at the screen, I frowned. What was Greg still doing at work? I should've taken it for a sign.

"Willows," I said only to grimace at the flat, grating voice of Ecklie coming at me like a freight train and accusing me of avoiding his calls. I'd been trapped. Sneaky bastard.

"In and out, Conrad, all night . . . No, I wasn't avoiding your calls . . . No messages . . . Haven't heard from him . . . No, Conrad, I _am_ telling you the truth . . . Of course I would . . . I promise the minute I hear . . . Yes . . . No, I'm not just telling you what you want to hear . . . No, I'm not calling him for you . . . First that would be an invasion of privacy and second . . . And second, he's on leave and doesn't need me or anyone else bombarding him with questions . . . No, I don't know where he is . . . No, I wouldn't tell you if I knew . . . You've got his file. Look it up . . . Fine to you, too, you rat bastard."

Yes, he'd hung up before my final comment so I was safe to display my Jim Brass term for Ecklie without anyone being the wiser. Tossing the phone into the passenger seat, I rubbed my face, trying to recall how much time had actually passed since Gil had been gone. Three, four weeks? Was it longer? It felt like an eternity. Yeah, I was in charge and yeah, I liked it but it wasn't like I got it on my own. This was so reminiscent of that time the FBI booted Gil out on the Goggle case. It wasn't my place then to take his job and it wasn't now.

Sighing, I dropped my head onto my hand and wondered if Hodges had made any headway on the files I'd unceremoniously dropped on him. He may be a kiss ass but he was also very thorough. The next thing I knew I was nearly leaping out of my seat when my phone rang again. I glared at it, worse things than rat bastard racing through my head, then grabbed it and slammed it to my ear.

"Willows!" I barked, mouth open to ream Ecklie a new asshole.

"Is that what I sound like when I answer the phone?"

My mouth hung open as the sound of that very welcomed voice hit my ear. "Hey, stranger," I said, a smile taking me over. I kept my tone soft and caring because I'd already had this conversation with myself that I wouldn't grill him if he ever called. And he did. Gil Grissom called me. "What's up?" I say instead of the myriad of other questions I could ask.

"I need a favor."

Short and to the point. Same old Grissom.

"A favor?"

"It's very important."

"Well, I don't know . . ."

"Catherine."

"Geez, Gil, you've been gone for a long time, you finally call me and then want me to be your lackey without letting me ask any questions?"

Silence came, followed by a deep sigh. "Just tell me you'll do it and I'll answer whatever you want," he said knowing from past experience I'd stall him unless he gave me what I wanted.

"Promise?"

Another sigh. "Promise."

I grin. A Grissom promise is like gold. "Okay, what's the favor?"

"I need you to send the Jeremy Roberts file to Conway Germen at CSI L.A., next day."

I frown. This wasn't what I was expecting. "You mean the guy who called the other day?"

"Yeah, and thanks for telling him where I was."

Ah, ruffled feathers. "What was I to do? He's the Director for God's sake."

"I know, I know. Just send him the file please?"

"Why do you want this file?"

"Can't you just send it?"

"Oh, I can." I know he's rolling his eyes.

"Fine. I think he's responsible for the death of a young girl here."

"New or old case?"

"New. Will you do it, Catherine? It's very important."

"So you're working then?"

"I'm just looking over the case for him and I think it's Roberts. If you could send that rush I'd really appreciate it."

"Well . . ."

"Catherine."

"Consider it done," I quickly add knowing that particular tone.

"Thank you."

That's better. "You know I'll do anything for you, Gil."

I hear a bit of a laugh. "Sometimes I rely on that too much."

"We help each other, Gil. I'm wondering when you're going to get that through your thick skull."

"You know how long it takes me to understand anything."

"Not as long as you lead others to believe," I chastised him. "Your mom taking good care of you?" I asked expecting a brush off.

"Yeah. She's been good for me," he answered and I'm in shock. I can't believe he admitted that.

"Well, good. That's what moms are for." Silence. The man could do silence like no other. "You okay, Gil? You sound different." And he did. I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was but there was something.

"Yeah, I'm fine. So anything new?"

He's dodging the question or he's fishing. Fishing about what? Sara?

"Ecklie wants to know if I know where you are and when you're coming back."

"You didn't . . ."

"Gil, please. I'm the master at sidestepping conversations. And, besides, he's so easy to do that, too." I hear another slight laugh. "Warrick closed the Bartlett case. Hodges has the hots for Wendy. And, Sara's back," I tossed in just to see if he was listening.

"Oh?"

"I did as you asked when she came calling, despite the fact I didn't want too. But, why toss away a good CSI just because I'm pissed." I smiled and figured he wasn't. "She's doing a good job, Gil. Very dedicated even though it's been hard for her to be here."

"I know."

My mouth flopped open. I believe I'd just been played. "You know?"

There was a slight hesitation. "Jim told me," came quietly. Jim? Jim?

"S-o-o-o-o you call _him_ but not _me_?"

"He doesn't give me the third degree."

Well, I couldn't really argue that point. "Okay, I'll give you that. But now you're at my mercy."

"I know." That time he groaned and it made me grin.

"And the only thing I want to ask you is how are you really? Are things looking better? Are you still worried about what happened in the store? You _are_ coming back aren't you?"

"You do know that's more than one question."

"Not if you say it really fast without any pauses," I said. "But I figured if I started out with a clump of questions it would keep you hanging in long enough to get to the most important question which is are you doing okay because I really miss you."

"You miss me doing the paperwork."

"No, Gil," I began, all traces of silliness gone. "I miss your company. I miss your quotes and puns, your smirks and raised brows and even that tilt of your head when you're about to go off on someone. I miss all of you. And so does everyone else, especially Sara. She's been really pulling her weight around here. There's no sign of the attitude, belligerent or otherwise. She does whatever I give her with no complaints and I've given her some doozies just to get a reaction."

"Catherine."

"I've made it rough on her, Gil. I freely admit that. I didn't like what she did to you and all I wanted was to smash her face in but restrained myself because I knew you'd kill me if you found out. I won't apologize for it so don't ask me. It's how I feel. I was so worried when you left; worried that I'd never see you again. My reactions were anything but civil."

"That's my fault. I should've talked to you and Brass. You were trying to be supportive and I just . . . I couldn't . . ."

"It doesn't matter, Gil, because I know you. I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere but I wanted you to know that I was there if you changed your mind."

"Thank you, Catherine. It's nice having people who know when to step away. Still, I'm sorry I didn't take what you offered. It might've kept me out of that store."

"Or pushed you straight to it," I say with a grin as he chuckles. "You know how I am."

"I do."

"But you don't have to worry about Sara. She's got Brass in her corner. He's been taking good care of her. Even gave me a few words along with Nick and Greg."

"Nick and Greg? Why?"

Oops. Probably shouldn't have brought that up. I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

"They're mad at her because they acted like jerks toward you when all the while they should've been supportive. But she stood firm and she had help from Brass," I added to forestall any heated words on his end. "But I believe one storm has passed."

"How so?"

"I sent Nick out with her last night and what came back was two people with smiles on their faces. Seems like old times around here for a change."

"Good because there's no reason for either of them to take anything out on Sara. She was . . ."

"It's okay, Gil," I interrupt. "You know you could've nipped this in the bud if you'd just told us why Sara left."

"It wasn't anyone's business."

"It would've saved you a lot of problems."

"And opened up a lot of questions. It wasn't something I was willing to share. And I'm still not."

Ah, forbidden territory still. "Got it, got it. Nothing else will be said, at least until I see you face to face." Silence. Don't push. "We all miss you around here, Gil, and hope you come back sooner rather than later. Sara misses you the most. She greatly regrets everything that happened. I'm telling you in case you won't let her say it."

More silence.

"Thanks for saying it."

"It's the truth. Now, I know you're on leave but I thought you'd want your mail so I sent a bunch to your mom's house."

"I got it."

"Good. I didn't want you missing out on some seminars or something, earning extra green while you loll in the sun."

"I don't loll. I 'lay out' I think is what the guys say."

"Guys? Oh, give."

"Let's just say mom is getting really tired of fish." I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Fishing buddies. How un-Grissom of you."

"Not really. I've been a fisherman since I was a kid. It's . . . nice to get back into it."

"Especially with the guys?"

"Especially with the guys."

"I just figured out how you sound different. You sound more relaxed, better. I'm thinking your mom has a lot to do with that."

"Yeah."

"Tell her thank you for me and from the rest of us that she was there for you to go to."

"I will."

"Do you have any idea . . ."

"I don't know," he interrupted and I nodded. It pained me to hear the uncertainty that questioned caused.

"That's okay. You take your time. I promise not to screw up your filing system."

"Um, Catherine?"

"Yes, I'll have that file in the air before you can spin around three times and shout mama." I knew that would've gotten me an extremely puzzled look and had to force myself not to laugh. "Don't let this Conway talk you into staying or anything. We want you back here."

"I'll heed your warning."

"Well, he was very smarmy on the phone. Sounded like a used car salesman."

Gil laughed. "I can't wait to tell him. He'll be crushed."

"Make sure you let me know his reaction."

"He'll probably call you himself."

"Sounds even better. I'm so glad you felt you could call me with this, Gil. It means a lot."

"Well, you're a good friend, Catherine. I just forgot for awhile. Make sure that package gets sent out ASAP okay?"

"Yes, sir, Captain, sir." I smiled then saluted.

"I've . . . I've gotta go. Thanks again."

I grinned. "You're welcome. Just don't forget we love you, Gil. Drop us a line now and again."

"Okay. I'll tell mom and she'll remind me. Talk to you soon."

Before I could respond the line went dead and I was left staring at a blank screen. So he wants the file that started everything. I thought about being snide and making Sara pull it without telling her why. Am I that much of a bitch? Sometimes. Would Gil be ticked at me once he found out because I know he'll find out? Yes. And didn't he just sort of willingly tell me a whole lot of stuff? Another yes.

After Lindsey got in the car, I drove us back to the lab, copied that file, packaged it up and took it to FedEx myself. I had a nice conversation with Conway Germen the next day and the first thing out of his mouth after thank you was 'so you think I sound like a used car salesman?' We got on well after that.

So the game's afoot in L.A. and I'm still in the dark as to what Gil's long-range intentions are but there is someone here to whom I can vent and I see him standing amid the flashing lights and crime tape as I pull into the large parking lot filled with police cars. I plan to take him to task for his failure to share and hope Ecklie's been bombarding him with phone calls. It only seems fair that he share in my misfortune. He may not think so, but I do. This'll teach him.

**Brass**

"No, Conrad. I haven't spoken with Grissom . . . What does Catherine have to do with this? . . . Well, you've asked and I've told you now, if you'll excuse me, I'm at a scene . . . I'm already on a double . . . I will not call Grissom . . . You're his boss, you do it. Gotta go." I toyed with the idea of my phone having a little accident then thought better of it since I'd have to explain how a department issued phone had tire tracks on it. "I should've stayed in Reno," I muttered, my eyes catching sight of Catherine walking very determinedly toward me. I should probably run but now I'm curious as to why she gave Ecklie my name. I put on a half-ass smile and gird my loins.

"What the hell, Jim!" she says, dropping her kit at my feet just missing my toes. I felt better about myself when I didn't even flinch.

"Nice to see you, too, Catherine, and yes, I had a fine time in Reno despite being grilled by three attorneys for the better part of two days."

"Don't give me any of that crap. I've been trying to get a hold of you for three of those two days."

Three of those two days? Boy, she's pissed. "Was that you?" I give her.

My non-plussed expression is a practiced art and, if I say so myself, I'm very good at it. She narrows her eyes and puts hands on her hips and stares at me. I can stare with the best of them but I am on a double and, knowing Catherine, she'd wait me out. I sigh.

"I was in the middle of a case and then court. If it was an emergency, you would've contacted me through the Reno police but, since you didn't, I didn't call back. I'm sorry." Her hands fall from her hips and I know I've slayed this particular dragon. "Now, what's the problem?"

"It's Gil," she says, her face taking on that 'I don't know how to tell you this but' look.

"What happened? Is he all right? He was fine three days ago . . ."

"Stop, stop!" she says holding up her hands and grabbing my arms. "He's fine. Take a breath."

And I do, about twenty of them then narrow my eyes at the twinkle in hers. "That wasn't nice," I say placing a hand on my chest. "You'd be pretty upset if I dropped dead at your feet all because you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you."

"Well, you do a good impression. Why does Ecklie think I know something about Gil?" She looks a tad bit remorseful. Just a tad.

"Because . . . I may have dropped your name in our last conversation."

"Why?"

"You kept stuff from me. That's not like you."

"What stuff?" I ask, really perplexed.

"Gil called you. Why didn't you tell me?"

I raise a brow and try to decide how best to get out of this. "How do you know about that?" Well, that sounded real intelligent.

"Let's see. The 'three days ago he was fine' would've given you away except Gil called _me_ three days ago and knew some things he shouldn't."

"Like?"

"Like Sara's back. When I questioned him your name came up."

"To which you bit off his head."

"No, no. He told me you don't give him the third degree and I, well, I had to agree with that."

"I don't share with people who tick me off and _you_, Catherine, ticked me off," I gave her.

"Jim . . ."

"_You_ are the acting supervisor. It's your job to make sure the troops are working together like a team and, as far as I could see, you just let everything fester. I couldn't tell if it was your own way of getting back at Sara for what she'd done to Gil or bad supervising."

"Gil is my friend. She started this."

"And you let those emotions get the better of you." That got her.

"I might've," she finally admits.

"You did and I didn't want to hear you going off at her because he'd had a bad night. But now he's called you. Under the circumstances you don't have to tell me anything but I'd like to know anyway. Your choice." I look away to gaze at the scene, feeling her hand on my arm.

"He wanted the Jeremy Roberts file sent to L.A."

"Jeremy Roberts?" She nods. "Anything else?"

"No."

"He called me because he was worried about Sara."

"Worried how?"

"He sounded . . . scared, like something had frightened him."

"Jeremy Roberts?"

"Could be."

"Do you think he'll stay in L.A.?" I give her a questioning look. "It looks like he's working for them."

"I'd say it's more of doing a favor for the Director. They're old friends."

"Old friends, huh?" she says with a slight shake of her head. "That man . . ."

"Catherine, the only reason I know is because I met Conway Germen a few years back when I was down in L.A. Once he found out where I worked, the first thing he asked was how's Gil to which I replied fine following it up with so who are you and how do you know him? I got all the dirt which turned out to be nothing exciting," I quickly add when she perks up. "Mostly it was about how Gil's mom used to make them breakfast when they came off a late shift. Nothing more exciting than that."

I give Catherine a slight smile and hope she doesn't grill me. It's not that I can't take it. I just don't like to lie to my friends. Conway told me a bunch of stuff that I'm sure Gil wouldn't want me to spill and, to tell Catherine, well, that would be like posting it on a billboard.

"Cut the guy some slack, Catherine," I add, leaning over to pick up her kit. "He's doing better."

"Yeah, I got that, too," she says taking her kit from my hand, both of us heading toward Greg who was already taking pictures.

"And that's all that matters. Not _who_ knows _what_," I remind her. She flashes me a scathing look and I give her a grin. Fortunately her phone rings so I'm saved from any daggers that might be let loose.

"This is so cool," I hear coming from Greg as both he and David Philips gaze at what looks like something I blew out of my nose this morning. It's revolting.

"Jim." I turn at Catherine's soft voice seeing a worried look on her face. "It's Sara," she whispers to me, turning us both away from Greg.

"You're not pulling a fast one on me again are you?" I ask, a bit of anger pushing it's way to the forefront.

She shakes her head. "That was Warwick. They were processing an old house when the floorboard gave way and she crashed through."

"How bad?" I ask my hands already rummaging for my car keys.

"She's cut up pretty bad but he didn't have anything else."

"Damn, I promised Gil," I say starting off toward Officer Mitchell.

"Promised him what?" Catherine calls after me but I keep going. "Jim!"

Telling Mitch I'll be reachable by phone, I jump in my car and flick on the flashing lights, burning rubber as I hightail it toward Desert Palm. I can't have been entrusted with Sara's wellbeing for just three days only to have it come crashing down around me. I don't even want to think on how that scene will go. 'Hey, Gil, about Sara . . .'

"Christ," I mutter trying to remind myself that I shouldn't put the cart before the horse, shouldn't decide what I'm wearing to the party before I'm invited, shouldn't . . .

"Stop already!"

I find that shouting at myself usually activates that little voice in my head that lives in the rational part of my brain thus taking charge of my mouth and shutting it. It doesn't always work. I have the scars to prove it.

Please don't let this leave another scar.

* * *

_For all of you who've been requesting blood and gore, destruction and mayhem . . . well, that won't be happening but there will be some scrapes and bruises and some blood in Part 19. Nothing to call in CSI for just something to keep you bloodhounds satisfied. _

_I hope you liked this part. The rest of this section will conclude in Part 19 with Sara - Brass - Greg. Please read and review. See you soon. Thanks! :-D_


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry, sorry for the delay. I was having a problem with the GSR moment in this piece. It's very difficult to cut something that you really like but you must when you find out it's contrary to what's been written in the early parts of this story and, I know, you guys will catch it. (Which I appreciate, by the way.) So I reworked it, telling it from another character's POV which doesn't mean it won't show up in another story of mine sometime in the future._

_This piece runs a bit long but there really wasn't a place to stop it so here it is. _

_My continued thanks go out to Nancy1, Moonstarer, Moochicat, gsrfan34, MsRawkeye, mrsjorjafox, was spratlurid quimby, NickyStokes and My Kate for your devotion. _

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 19**

**Brass**

"Is Sara all right?" comes Greg's voice not a foot away from me as I sip the disgustingly vile hospital coffee. It's either this or tea and not a whiskey in sight.

"They haven't told me much," I give him without looking his way.

"I need to see her," he blurts out walking past me to stare through the small window in the ER door.

"Why?" I shouldn't say such things but they just come out. He doesn't answer me so I focus on his back. "Why?" I repeat, a bit louder and surlier. That gets his attention and he turns.

"Because she's my friend," he tells me with a straight face.

Now I know that Greg's had a crush on Sara from the get go and was, no doubt, crushed to find out that she and Gil were involved, but that doesn't excuse his childish behavior to them both. So that's why it didn't pain me to rub it in.

"Oh, that's what you've been doing. Being her friend," I fling at him with an infinite amount of pleasure.

He opens his mouth to respond then stops, eyes flicking toward the floor. "I deserved that."

"Yes, you did," I remark.

He nods then returns to looking through that small window while I take a seat, picking up an out of date Bon Appétit magazine with a big juicy hamburger on the front. I could really use a ham . . .

"I need to see her because I need to apologize," comes at me from the next seat, startling me. I didn't even hear him approach. I must be tired.

I glare at him. "Don't use what happened to make amends. You need to mean it."

"I do," he says looking at me. "I do." He turns away and stares at his hands. "I've gone over and over what I did, to both of them, and it makes me feel . . ."

"Like an idiot?" I supply seeing him shake his head.

"Worse than that. A thickheaded, stupid, insensitive ass who thought that I could save her somehow from Grissom's brainless dismissal all the while knowing it wouldn't matter what I did because she loves _him_. I never even considered that it was her that did the walking. It never crossed my mind. I still find it hard to believe after all this time of her chasing him." He lowers his head and rubs the back of his neck.

"I look back on all of it and cringe. How could I treat Grissom that way? I idolize him. He's always been good to me. When I was blown up in the lab, he came and visited me; he listened. And later, when I came back and couldn't seem to stop jumping at every shadow, he was there to help me, to make me feel that there would come a time when my hands would stop shaking and it didn't matter how long it would take because he would be there for me. And I threw that all away because I didn't know why Sara left and didn't take the time to ask."

"He probably wouldn't have told you anyway," I give him, feeling a bit sorry for the young man despite what he did. I could hit myself.

He nods. "I know but I didn't even try." He looks up for a bit as someone walks through then back down. "And when Sara told us it was her fault . . . I don't know. I just . . . I felt betrayed or something."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "Because she was my friend. If I couldn't have her any other way I always wanted her as my friend and then she just up and left and wouldn't answer my calls, wouldn't let me know what was going on." He leans back into the seat. "And I follow along like a puppy with Nick and make it worse. And now . . . Now I don't know how to talk to her. I'm so scared she's going to push me away. I wouldn't blame her," he adds, "but it scares me."

"There's your answer," I say to him.

He looks at me, perplexed. "What answer?"

"To why you need to see her." He looks even more puzzled. Ah, to be so young and stupid. "You need to prove to yourself that you're strong enough to take what she dishes out. Nick did it and now it's your turn. And if you make it past Sara, Grissom will be a breeze."

"But I really, really pissed him off."

"I'm sure you did but if you make things right with Sara, she'll be the one that stands between you and him. So you might as well thank her now for what's to come."

"So you think he's coming back?"

I can see the hope in his eyes and I know I look like that, too. "Oh, he'll be back. He may not stay, but he'll be back."

"What do you . . ."

Just then the ER doors swing open and I hear someone call my name. Tossing the magazine onto Greg's lap, I quickly stand as a young woman approaches.

"I'm Captain Brass," I acknowledge. "How's Sara?"

"Dr. Makenzie," she says with a smile.

"How's Sara?" I ask again. My patience, what there is of it, is paper thin.

I detect a slight bit if amusement in the little tug at the corner of her mouth. Of course, I could be wrong and she's about to flatten me but I hold my ground.

"She suffered a slight concussion, skinned herself up pretty bad and rammed a nail through her hand."

"Ow," Greg comments.

"And that means what exactly?" I ask not giving her an inch.

She raises a brow at me. "You know for someone who isn't her proxy, you're really taking a chance that I'll just turn and walk away."

"Since you haven't yet, I'm betting you won't," I give back.

She studies me for a moment while I wait. She doesn't know that I have a horde of CSI's who will pummel me if I don't get the proper information (Catherine especially) and I don't plan on telling her.

She must've seen something in me because she backs down, glances over to Greg then back to me.

"We managed to remove the nail and it doesn't appear that there is any other damage to the hand. We've given her a tetanus shot. We'll have to keep her overnight because of her concussion. Other than that, she'll be sore and uncomfortable but nothing that a good round of Demerol won't help with."

I begin to relax and take a step back from the doctor. No use being in her face and using my police voice when it's not warranted although it did feel pretty good. "Thank you, doctor. I'm sorry if I . . ."

"No problem," she cuts in, holding up a hand. "I was expecting it." It's my turn to raise a brow. "Your reputation precedes you, Captain."

I stand a bit straighter and try to put on a dignified face. "Well, have to keep up appearances you know."

She chuckles and tilts her head to the right. "Sara would like to see you. I'll take you back."

I turn to look at Greg who stands stock still by the chairs. "You coming?"

"Ah . . . no. I'll let everyone know she's staying overnight." I give him a hard look. "I can't swoop in there just now," he says. "Especially if she's on drugs."

"It might be your best chance to make up with her? Hopped up she'll forgive you anything."

"Maybe so but that's not what I want. I have to do this when she's clear headed. I want to know that if she forgives me, she'll mean it as much as I mean my apology."

I look at him then nod, pleased at his choice. He smiles a bit and I turn back to the doctor and follow her through the doors.

**Sara**

I've been a klutz again.

I should've been watching where I was going. That was an old house that smelled of mold and wet – those smells mostly covering up the decomp aroma that rose from the back room. But it was dark and the lights weren't working and I missed the large hole in the floor under the window by the vic, my attention drawn to the bright yellow sunflower purse that my flashlight picked up. I took another step and CRASH! through the floor I went. And it wasn't a straight down to the basement fall. Oh, no. That would be too easy. My elbow got caught on the floor as I went through, my flashlight falling from nerveless fingers to spiral around and catch me full in the face, my hand automatically coming up to shield my eyes instead of stopping my downward momentum; momentum that was no longer straight but angled in such a way that my leg skidded down a broken beam ripping my pants to shreds along with my skin to land in a heap atop a dusty shelving unit in the basement that, of course, toppled over in a loud explosion of sound. Not having a clue which way was up, I hit the ground hard and rolled to a stop against the foot of the basement stair, my head cracking against the wood. Stars, birds, and everything else swirled across my eyes and I quickly closed them before I puked.

It seemed like hours later I heard Warrick's panicked voice trying to wake me up but he assures me it was only a couple of minutes, a couple of minutes that 'took at least 2 years off my life' he said. I kind of remember what happened after that but it's all jumbled, the order out-of-order. The only thing I truly recall with clarity is Warrick holding my hand as the EMTs put me into the ambulance, looking me straight in my glazed eyes.

"If you die, Sara, make room for me 'cause Grissom'll send me after you real quick."

"That's the nicest thing to say," I responded trying to keep him in focus. He frowned. I grinned. I'm sure he thought I was a goner.

Well, _I_ thought it was nice. It meant he knew Gil still cared. How he knew I don't know and I won't question. It's nice to know that someone else thought so, too.

It seemed like seconds later we were in the ER. They took care of me quickly then shot me full of something. Who knows what they did to me then and who cares. All I could see was Gil as we backed up toward my bed, his kisses leaving a hot trail across my skin as I made quick work of the buttons on his shirt by yanking it open, barely picking up the soft clattering of those buttons as they found new resting places about the room. He chuckled, I grinned, as I ran my hands through his hair when . . .

His breath left him in a whoosh as we landed with a thud on the floor, my weight pressing against his chest, his head bouncing off the floor loud enough to make me wince. I was off him in an instant, panic making a headlong rush through me when I noticed his eyes were closed.

"Gil? Gil!" I repeated, my voice a bit more shrill than I'd intended, forcing me to take a breath and calm down. "Gil, baby? You here with me?" That time my voice was quieter.

"Ow," finally came from him, his face scrunching up, a sort of hissing sound following that single word as his hand moved toward his head.

"Oh, baby, where does it hurt?" I was afraid to touch him.

I watched him peek out of one eye, then the other, just before he pointed to his head. I gave it a soft kiss. He then pointed to his cheek. I raised a brow but followed through with another kiss. His elbow came next (I could see a red mark forming there) followed by the palm of this left hand (which had been holding onto me as we fell), the knuckles of his right hand, his nose, both eyes, his chin then, finally, those luscious lips that I could never get enough of. I, of course, kissed each and every spot, lingering the longest on those lips that gave back as good as I gave. When he let me go I found myself lying full length on him, his hands rubbing along my back.

"That was nice."

"Yeah, I feel much better," he said waggling his brows.

I snorted. "I can tell."

He smiled. "But it's a bit cold down here so how about we change our elevation."

"As you wish," I answered, scooting off him and taking hold of his outstretched hand and giving it a pull. The answering yell to STOP halted my actions in a hurry as I watched the color drain from his face.

"My back," was all he managed to slip through clenched teeth before he was flat on the floor once again, his palms plastered to the wood. "Don't touch me," he said as I leaned over only to stop. "Just . . . give me a minute."

"Okay."

If I wasn't so worried I'd have been laughing. There we were half dressed - his pants around his ankles and shirt hanging open, me in my bra and underwear, and him not able to move. I could hear the 911 call. 'Yeah, I stepped on my boyfriend's pants and he tripped, fell flat and hurt his back while we were on our way to have wild monkey sex.' I might think that was funny but he wouldn't.

We decided to wait until he could move. We waited all night.

It gets pretty damn cold on the floor even though I'd managed to get him rolled onto a comforter and covered us with every other blanket I could find. And you know what he said to me the next morning? That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him - staying the night on the floor when there was a perfectly good bed all of four feet away.

"I would never abandon you to the gremlins that sweep through here each night moving my stuff around."

"Too bad they didn't move me to the couch," he quipped.

"Still can't move?" I asked watching him wince as he tried to move then lay flat again and shook his head. "Hmm. I could have my way with you. All you'd have to do is lay there."

"I like to participate."

"Okay. I could roll you over and massage your back, maybe pop back in whatever popped out."

"I really have to pee so no pressing down on anything."

I laughed at bit at that. "How about I call someone to help?"

He gave me an odd look. "Like who?"

"Warrick? _(he__ shook __his__ head)_ Greg? _(no __again)_ Nick? _(nope)_ Brass? _(well__.__.__.__no)_. Not Ecklie?"

"Oh, God no," he proclaimed with a grimace. "Can you imagine that? Say, Giillll, pounding Sidle into the wall every night?" I couldn't help but laugh. He had Ecklie down to a tee. "Yeah, every night, you putz. Oh, and by the way, we use your desk when you're out of the office."

My laughter grew louder. "I won't be able to look him in the face now," I finally managed.

"Who'd want to do that anyway?" he asked smiling at me when I snorted. "Stop laughing. I have to pee."

"I can't help it," I said clutching my stomach. I heard him begin to laugh then groan, sobering me a bit.

"You sure you don't want me to call Brass? He'd be glad to help."

"I know. I just don't . . . It doesn't seem like the right way to find out about us especially since we're hardly dressed. Can you imagine how embarrassed he'd be? He'll announce himself from the front door to here, hiding his eyes all the way. And it wouldn't be me he'd worry about. It would be you."

"Me?"

"You've got him wrapped about your finger, young lady, and you know it. He'd accuse me of taking advantage of you."

"Isn't that sweet?" He rolled his eyes and I smiled then leaned over to kiss him, his mouth making its way slowly to my ear.

"I really, really have to pee," he whispered starting me giggling again.

"I'll get you something," I gave him before hurrying off to the kitchen.

After his problem was taken care of, I managed to get him to his feet and onto the bed and gave him the best massage he'd ever had, resulting in a smile worthy afternoon. The fact that he walked funnier than usual sparked Catherine's interest to which heresponded that it's difficult not to when you've tripped over your pants and spent the night on the floor all with a straight face. I quickly hid my grin and turned away, only to catch him winking at me once I turned back.

I can't help but smile with delight.

"What are you thinking about?" comes the welcomed voice of Jim Brass as he leans over to kiss my forehead. "Oh, wait. I know." I giggle. "So, I see you've been a klutz again," he says.

"It's what I do." He chuckles and sits on the nearest stool. "Please don't take it out on Warrick. It wasn't his fault."

"Not even a few loud words?"

"Nope. It was all me. I was distracted by a sunflower." He raises a brow. "I swear. It was lying next to the body. Drew my attention away from the hole under my feet."

"Damn sunflowers."

"Damn sunflowers," I repeat with a larger grin.

"The doctor told me she pulled a nail from your hand. That's just yucky."

"Yucky?"

"Makes my hand cramp just to think about it," he says with a mock shiver.

I hold up my heavily wrapped hand. "Doesn't hurt."

"Good drugs." When he's right, he's right. "They also told me they're keeping you overnight just to make sure everything is working right. I'll make sure they know to call me to pick you up."

"'kay."

"So, you wanted to tell me something?"

He looks expectantly at me and I frown. I _had_ wanted to say something to him but, for the life of me, I can't remember.

"Ah . . ." That was the extent of my language ability at that particular moment.

"Did it have anything to do with how I managed to get the doctor to tell me everything about you even though I'm not listed as your proxy?" I blink a few times, thinking that sounds vaguely familiar. "Did it have anything to do with the case?" Case? What case? "How about . . ."

"Gil!" I blurt out pleased with myself that I could actually form a word.

"Go on."

"Ah . . ."

He looks expectantly at me. "Gil . . . what?" I frown. "Gil has the bluest eyes you've ever seen? Gil is hot, hot, hot? Gill is part of a fish?"

I was giggling by then but managed to find the words. "Yes, yes and yes, a gill is part of a fish."

"And?" he pushes.

I sober a bit. "And you love him, too, don't you?"

Jim opens his mouth then closes it, the question unexpected obviously. I don't even know where it came from. He rubs at his brow then looks back at me.

"Yeah, I do. He's always been a good friend, a good listener. He's always been willing to overlook my mistakes usually with a couple shots of whiskey thrown in for good measure." He looks at me then grins. "And you don't want me to tell him about what happened do you?" A bit chagrined I slowly shake my head. "Don't you think he should know you're throwing yourself through floors?"

"It wouldn't be news to him," I say as he grins, rubbing his face. "You've been up for a long time haven't you?" I ask suddenly noticing he looks incredibly tired.

"Yeah," he says with a nod.

"I'd move over but there's not enough room."

"I'd knock you to the floor before morning. I spread out."

"Me, too!" I giggle as he smiles at me.

"You sure you don't want Gil to know?" I shake my head. "What about Annie?"

"Nope. There's nothing either of them can do and, besides, you're here and that's a good substitute."

"So now I'm a substitute?"

"A good substitute. Like Mrs. Sticklin for Mr. Brody." I saw his brow furrow and knew I'd lost him. "My 5th grade teacher, Mr. Brody, broke his hip falling of his porch and Mrs. Sticklin came in for most of the semester. She was tops. Made me love science and Alan Ladd. She had a huge crush on him. We watched "Shane" every day for a week in the classroom after school. She was the best."

He smiles. "Well, then, I'm flattered at being a substitute and will execute that job to the best of my ability. Of course, I'll need something from you."

"Like what?" I ask wondering what's going through that man's head.

He reaches for my hand and kisses the back before holding it up to his chest. "I need you to watch before you step, look before you leap and, please, please try not to kill yourself before Gil comes home. As a favor I'm asking . . . a favor to me because if you journey to the great beyond I won't be far behind courtesy of the bugman himself."

"That's what Warrick said, too," I respond.

"Well, now you know," he said, his tone one of exaggeration. "We're all scared of Gil." I start laughing then. "So don't put us in a position where we'll have to defend ourselves." My laughter grows louder. "It's not funny," he says just before joining in, the two of us sounding like cackling chickens.

But our fun is interrupted by a nurse who smiles stiffly at us then reminds Jim that they aren't done with me yet. He gives me another quick kiss on the forehead then points his finger at me and waggles it before flashing me a smile as he backs out the door, my attention returning to the nurse.

"I'm Abby and Dr. Makenzie wants to . . ."

I tune her out thinking back to Jim saying 'try not to kill yourself before Gil comes home'. He'd said that with such certainty. I wonder if they've spoken or if Annie sent him another Email. I wonder if . . .

I shouldn't dwell and just bask in Jim's calming presence, knowing that he'll be there when I need him for better or worse. I grin at that thought making Abby give me a funny look.

"Drugs," is all I say and she nods knowingly just before pushing my bed through the door.

Jim is standing nearby and I give him a wave. I don't see him return it since Nurse Abby is a speed freak and I clutch onto the sides of the bed so I don't fall off. But it's okay. I know he's here and that's all that matters right now.

**Greg**

She's been asleep for a couple of hours and the doctor says she's going to be fine and I've been pacing, drawing attention to myself. Of course it probably wasn't the pacing but the large gift I'd brought for Sara that brought odd looks.

The nurse has informed me she's awake now and I'm standing at the doorway to her room waiting for her to notice me. She might throw me out or curse at me until my ears bleed or merely stare. She's got a killer stare that bores holes through you. I've seen her use it on suspects. Makes me shiver just to think about it.

"Are you coming in or not?" comes at me and I jump. Great, Sanders. "Greg?"

"Ah, yeah," is all I can muster as I slowly step toward the bed.

"What's with the tree?" she asks as I peer through the leaves of the gigantic thing in my hands.

I'm nervous. I'd gone through dozens of things to say; tossed out a dozen more. Now I find my throat clogged with indecision over a simple glad you're going to be okay to sorry-sorry-sorry! But I can't stand here like an idiot all day and, besides, this plant, ah, tree is heavy.

I clear my throat, shrug and say the first thing that pops into my head. "It worked for Grissom."

You know that moment when something really inane crosses your lips and you realize that life isn't a movie and there's absolutely no way to take it back? Then you know how I'm feeling. Stupid-stupid-stupid.

"Ah, Greg, that's so sweet," she says holding out her hand toward me.

I'm frozen to the spot. Her eyes are welling. Great! I've made her cry. That wasn't my intent.

"Greg, get over here."

That's all it took. Quickly, I deposit the tree on the floor and hurry toward her, making sure not grab anywhere that looks remotely broken which is, quite literally, impossible since everything looks broken or bruised.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what got into me. It just freaked me out when you left and I figured . . . I figured wrong but that didn't stop me from being an even bigger jerk when I found out the truth and ruined everything and I want to get back to the way we were but don't know how and Grissom is going to be so mad at me when he finds out what I've done and I don't know how to fix that and . . ."

"Greg, stop, stop," she says pushing me back slightly. I give her a 'don't stop me now' look but she forges on. "If you don't stop _(God,__ it's __like __she __can __read __my __mind)_ and take a breath you're gonna pass out. Breathe."

She's right. I am getting a bit lightheaded. So I do and she holds onto me as I sit heavily on the side of the bed wanting to look at her but ashamed to do so. I don't have any other words except what I've already said and repeating them won't make it any better.

"Did you steal that plant from the Arboretum?" she asks nodding toward the tree sitting by the doorway.

"Would you believe me if I told you I planted it, babied it, fed it, fertilized it until, one day I woke up and BAM! it was hitting the ceiling?"

"No. When would you have had the time?"

"Good point." I smile a bit then hang my head. "I, ah, remembered the plant you keep in your kitchen window; how it seemed to have a special place there on the sill. One day you wanted me to make you some tea and as I was standing there, I noticed the card. Being that Grandpa Olaf always called me a nosey parker you can guess what happened next."

"You read the card."

"Yep. I freely admit now that I was expecting something juicy or wanton or, at least, salacious. But all that was there was 'Grissom'. I think I really began to believe then that I didn't have a chance." A short chuckle follows that statement (from me) as I look away from her.

"Oh, Greg . . ."

"No-no, it's okay. I don't measure up, I get that. He's . . . he's brilliant and funny and has those sparkling eyes that I've seen snare many a fan on both sides of the aisle." I wiggle my brows at that and she laughs. "And that's okay because I also know that he loves you and will forever. So when you left . . . When you left I didn't know what to think and, therefore, didn't." Grimacing, I stare at my fingers. "And I did the worst thing imaginable. I treated the man who's taught me so much, who's let me act like a fool and play my music loud, and listened to me when he probably shouldn't . . . well, I treated him like he wasn't any better than our average perp. That was, well, it was just wrong in so many ways. And I did it all because I thought I was defending you."

I look at her, not even trying to conceal the hurt I feel. I should've. She's in the hospital for crap sake but I didn't. Another strike for me. She holds my gaze though. I'll give her credit for that.

"I'm sorry, Greg. You've every right to feel that way. I didn't say anything to you. I just left like none of you mattered and that was wrong. And I never thought of any of you while I was away either. All I could think about was how Grissom didn't trust me, didn't think I had any brains and that I would do something stupid like head back to a scene without back up."

"But you did," I toss in for good measure.

"I know," she admits with a slight shake of her head. "He was right. Once that thought crept into my little brain another one followed right after. He was scared, scared shitless. My man, the one I've loved forever, was scared, and I didn't see it. All I saw was me, my needs, my wants. And then I was gone. To hell with him. To hell with all of you." She pauses for a moment and I don't fill the silence like I normally would. I just wait. "It was stupid, all of it. You were defending an idiot and I want to make it up to you if I can. I want us to be friends again, like we used to be, because I've missed you, Greg. You're hardly out of arm's reach at the lab and yet you never see me anymore and it's all my fault."

She looks intently at me. "But I want that to change. How can I make it up to you? What can I do to fix my mistake? Tell me, Greg. Please tell me." I'm stunned and I'm sure that feeling was written across my face. "What?"

"The last thing I want is an apology from _you_, Sara. I don't deserve one, not now, not after what I did to Grissom," I explain. "What I _do_ want from you is this," I say, grabbing her hand in mine and holding it tightly. "I want to be able to joke with you again, share a movie, share a meal, be the one you can talk to if the G-man becomes too much. I want what you want – what we had before. Can we do that? Please?"

I smile then, a true smile and watch her eyes light up like I haven't seen since before she left.

"I would love that very much," she says and I think my smile is going to break my face. "I bet you got that plant from outside Herbie's Hot Nuts," she says to me, my smile grows as does hers which in turns makes us both laugh.

"You should've seen Nick and I trying to shove it into my car while Warrick distracted Herbie."

"Warrick?"

"Oh, yeah. In fact, he came up with the idea of the distraction. I was just going to 'borrow' it and make a fast getaway. He didn't like the way that plan 'flowed'," I say holding my fingers up in quote marks. "So he came up with one of his own. It worked. The man's got moves."

"So when does it have to be back?"

"Oh!" I say quickly looking at my watch. "Damn. Now. Warrick's waiting for me. I gotta go." I practically fall over my feet leaping off the bed and haul the tree back into my arms. "I'll come back later, Sara."

"Greg!"

"Yeah?" I ask once again peering through the leaves.

"If that was a little smaller I'd put it right up next to Grissom's," she says and, damnit, I'm gonna cry.

"I . . . I'll see what I can do."

I grin to cover up my hitching breath and quickly flee. She doesn't need to see me cry. I don't want to cry. I want to shout is what I want to do.

Sara's back!

I've got Sara back.

**Sara**

I lean against the pillows thinking on how my life is suddenly on its way to being better. Nick and Greg are smiling and talking to me again. Two puzzle pieces. Catherine isn't being as mean spirited lately. Another piece. Jim . . . well, Jim is just wonderful. I wish I could shrink him down and carry him around in my pocket so whenever I need an uplifting thought he'd be there. Major piece plus ten. There's only one piece left. The piece that everyone circles around; the hub, if you will.

Gil.

He taught all of us. He kept us focused and informed. He led with a light hand, often letting us make mistakes because, as he said many times that's how you learn. He fought for us, kept us grounded, cared for us even when we didn't recognize it. We hurt him, called him names, turned our backs on him but he always let us come back into the fold.

Until I walked away. Then things changed. For all of us.

I've tried not to look at it like that before. Oh, I know I started the ball rolling. But that ball cascaded into Nick and Greg making them act like idiots then led Gil right into that store to stand in front of a gun without any inclination to save himself. We're all culpable even though I was the catalyst that drove us, and him, to that end.

But things are looking up. They all know Gil loves me. I even know, thanks to Annie. So now I just need to wait for that last piece to come home and, hopefully, let me make things right.

Turning to look out the window, I spy the personal belongings bag on the sidetable. Rummaging through it, I hope it's here, my own keepsake of him that had been residing in my pants pocket. I worry that it might be lying in that old house amid the mold and rot . . . ah, here it is.

Bringing it out into the open, I smile at how relaxed he looks with the kittens then hold it up for the morning sun to kiss his face. I do the same before holding it close to my heart.

"You are the last piece, Gil. Everything else has fallen into place. The only thing left is you. And for that . . ." I sigh a little then hold up the photo so I can see him again. "For that I'll wait forever."

* * *

_There you go. I hope you liked it. This coming week is Inventory at work so I will be sidetracked until the first part of November so, I apologize ahead of time for another delay in this ongoing saga, epic, soap opera that I so enjoy creating. And I thank everyone again for sticking with me with your lovely reviews._

_Next up will be the return of The Fab Five! (Sounds like a Bond movie or something or Austin Powers.)  
_

_(BTW - Herbie's Hot Nuts was an ice cream shoppe in West Los Angeles when I was a kid. They had the best ice cream.)_


	20. Chapter 20

_I'm going to start this off right - I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE. Now, here's my reason. It was all me, myself and I trying to force in a part that I REALLY wanted whether it fit or not. Once I smacked myself a time or two and figured I can work it in later, did it all start to flow. I'm a menace to myself. Of course, having spent myself on this part I'm scrambling for the next part but, have no fear, my beta will glower at me more than once then kick me in the butt then say GET ON WITH IT! That usually does the trick._

_To all who celebrate - Happy Thanksgiving. To all who don't have a great time anyway._

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Part 20**

**Grissom**

I'm thinking if I stare long enough at the building before me I'll be able to 'cloud men's minds' like The Shadow and then, just maybe, I could walk through those doors and not worry about a thing since no one will know I've been there. I'll slip in, do what I need to do, then slip out, get in my car and drive home.

I'm still in the car. I need to concentrate harder.

A loud raucous squawking fills the air startling me out of my fantasy and back into the reality of all the common noises associated with a police station. They are familiar to me and, hating to admit this, I sort of miss them . . . sort of. Lingering somewhere within me is the need to fall back into what is known, where I felt comfortable, but with that comes politics, stress, paperwork . . . and Sara.

Sara. At least her name doesn't tear me up so much anymore which, I guess, is a good thing. No. It _is_ a good thing. It means I'm coming to terms with . . . with whatever that was, that bad, bad time that drove me here. Of course if I'd excelled in that coming to terms part I'd probably be out of the car by now. Yeah. I guess I need to rethink that part.

Leaning my head back, I sigh, knowing myself well enough to figure it could be well over an hour before I get up the gumption to open the car door let alone step out. So I shall put my pondering to good use and think back on how I came to be here, parked in front of the LAPD in the first place, then figure out if I'll ever speak to the Fab Four again or give them all hugs which would shock more than one of them. I smile. Maybe I'll just do that anyway for kicks.

It was the day after my nightmare when I realized Jeremy Roberts was in town, Jim calmed my fears and Catherine promised to send the file to Conway. It was also the day mom figured out my life for me and I was feeling good - about things, about myself - the first time since all of this started. That morning when I got up to go fishing I was looking forward to the colors of the morning sky when the sun rose, the sounds of water slapping against the sides of the boat, Hank barking at the seagulls and I met Paul at his truck with a smile on my face. He didn't question it. Just took it on good faith.

We made good time and found ourselves walking down the pier to the waiting boat, glimpsing the remaining members of our group leaning against the railing. I didn't know at the time I was walking into the belly of the beast. Before I could even say mornin' they were upon me.

"Why weren't you here yesterday?"  
"Are you feeling all right?"  
"Was it something you ate?"  
"Your mom didn't make you stay home did she?"

My brows flew up at that comment. I believe I may have scowled as well since all other questions stopped before they started.

"I told them you didn't want to get your nice new purple cast wet since it was raining," Paul informed me. I glared and he shrugged. "They didn't believe me."

Eyeing him again, I ruminated for about half a second on agreeing with him then decided against it. These guys had always been good for me. No use lying to them now.

"The L.A. CSI Director came to call and dropped off a case file," I began seeing I'd caught their attention. Anything with a gore potential perked them right up. "It, ah, brought up some stuff and I didn't get to sleep 'til early morning."

"Well, that's no good," replied Charlie with a knowing nod.

"You know, I've fished with guys who've fallen asleep and then overboard, only to disappear into the depths," came from Todd in all seriousness.

"When?" Paul scoffed.

"Before . . . Last year . . . I read in a tabloid at the store," Todd finally admitted looking toward his shoes.

"What was in the file?" Jules asked straight at me.

I grimaced. "I don't think . . ."

"It kept you up," he continued. "It must not've been good."

I found myself shaking my head and rubbing my forehead. "A young girl was raped and murdered here, in Los Angeles. I believe the man who did it did the same thing in Vegas."

"The pictures were God awful," Paul slipped in before I had to say any more and I would be forever grateful he had their attention.

"What did he do?"  
"Did the perp leave any evidence?"  
"Where did it happen?"

They swarmed Paul and Hank and I took advantage of the distraction and quickly clambered aboard the boat, my own thoughts moving to a hope that the fish were running and that would sidetrack them even further. But we still had to get to _where_ they were running and there were only so many places to hide on a small boat. I ducked down to rummage through my tackle box thinking if I looked like I was working on a lure I might blend in and they'd leave me alone. My hopes were dashed when I heard their shoes hit the deck and they were on me in a second.

"Who was she?"  
"Did she have any family?"  
"Do you know who did it?"  
"How can you look at stuff like that?"  
"Think they'll ever find the creep who did it?"  
"What are you going to do?"

I let go of the lure at that question, its clatter sounding loud to my ears. It was bound to happen - the 'you're a superstar CSI who'll find the madman and slap the cuffs on him' sound-byte that I really didn't need to hear right then. I didn't need to hear. And suddenly that bothered me - my need _not_ to _want_ to hear it.

"Can we just go fishing?" I asked in a pleading tone knowing it was pointless but trying just the same.

"Aw, come on," Jules began. "You're like the best CSI we know."

"I'm the only one you know," I reminded them.

"Aren't you gonna help?" came from Charlie.

"I . . ." That's all that came out. I looked at him then away sitting heavily on the deck, Hank coming up to lean against me. That's when Paul stepped in.

"Boys, let's go fishing," he began, stopping the innumerable amount of questions I knew were going to keep coming. "We agreed a long time ago that our fishing time wasn't work time and no such tale of our 9-5 worlds shall pass our lips whilst on a lake, river or at sea and that includes the pier and/or dock to get there."

"Whilst?" Jules asked.

"It adds a bit of class. Leave it alone," Paul finished eyeing each of the men. "Now, let's get going."

They all scattered and Paul gave me an apologetic grin. I tried to return it but their questions started up the stuff that I'd managed to push down into the darkest place I could find after my nightmare, after I began to realize that I still had a life and it didn't necessarily have to be as a CSI.

Rising to my feet, I headed toward the bow, waving at the skipper as I passed forcing myself to think on how good mom's Hawaiian Ono fish would taste after I caught a dozen bonita. As the boat got up some speed, those thoughts were replaced with the sight of Hank standing on top of a pile of rope near the bow barking at the spray as it hit his face. I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of me as he flashed a grin at me. I took his cue and stood next to him, finding myself grinning right along with him.

The day moved along uneventfully after such an inauspicious beginning. I didn't fall overboard, no one was gaffed, sharks were not seen but a few seals came begging for attention, and the fish _were_ running. By the time noon rolled around, we were knee deep in them. The Fab Five were together again, sharing jokes and raunchy comments and just laughing at any old inane thing. It made those lasting dark feelings easier to deal with and it felt good.

We made it back to dock by 12:30pm. We'd all talked about going to lunch at the Salty Dog, a seafood diner just up the beach, so Hank and I (and the 10 bonita I'd caught) headed up the pier for Paul's truck. I had to admit I was hungry. Sea air always does that me and Hank, too. Of course he's always hungry.

Dropping everything in the back of the truck, I turned, surprised to find Charlie, Todd and Jules standing behind me, Paul sidling up next to me with a repentant look on his face. My brows narrowed as I looked at each of them, the hair at the back of my neck standing on end.

"What?" I asked more out of politeness because I really didn't want a repeat of this morning.

"The, ah, guys want to talk to you," Paul gave me without looking me straight in the eye.

"Okay," I said thinking I could probably outrun all of them.

"We, ah, we think you should go help that CSI Director fella," Jules said, motioning toward the other two to chime in.

"Yeah," Todd began. "He-he wouldn't have asked for your help unless he thought you could, you know, help."

"And you know who the guy is," Charlie added. "I'd think that would be helpful. Right?" he finished lamely.

Knowing in my heart they were doing what they thought was right didn't stop my guts from turning into knots and evaporating my taste for Salty Dog on the spot. The scathing look I sent Paul wasn't kind.

"I told them to leave you alone, Gil," he remarked, taking a step back. "But they wouldn't listen to me."

"It's just that," Jules began, "we know you're good at what you do and, if it was my daughter that'd been . . . attacked like that, well, I'd want the best on the case."

"I'm not the same man I used to be," I finally said. "Things have changed."

"But you could never forget what you've been," Todd tried not realizing that that was not a good thing to say.

I stared at him seeing him swallow. "What if I want to forget?" I asked, my hand turning into a fist at my side. "Did _that_ occur to any of you?" I was getting hot and bothered. It was the same feeling I'd experienced not so long ago right before I broke my knuckles.

"Ah, Gil . . ." Paul stammered, but I wouldn't be deterred.

"You don't know what it's like to see death day after day, to see what people do to each other. I thought I was used to it, thought I could bury myself in the science, in the puzzle, in catching the bad guy. And I did for a long time. But, after awhile, it becomes too much. It's all you see, all you remember and your emotions are so repressed that you become a stick, an impassive piece of nothing that no one recognizes as human."

"It's okay, Gil," Paul tried again. I ignored him.

"Being here has reminded me that there are other places in the world besides a crime scene, that standing on the bow of a boat being smacked in the face with saltwater is heaven. I've taken myself out of the darkness so that I can remember what it was like to live again and you want me to go back in? You want me to open myself up to dead bodies and crying families and the knowledge that I just might not be able to bring them the resolution they deserve?"

My voice had risen. I could hear myself and, this time, clamped shut my mouth. They were stunned and remained silent. I had to stop for all our sakes. I stuck my fist in my pocket and looked toward the ground.

"You don't know what you're asking," I finished, quieter this time. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't ask again."

Deep down I knew they wouldn't judge me, either for my outburst or my desire to be left alone, but on the surface I wasn't too sure. The farthest thing from my mind was the need to obliterate this friendship I'd cultivated with these three guys. They'd become very important to me over these many weeks but I was afraid that was exactly what I'd done.

A sadness crept over me and I glanced toward Paul. "Hank and I'll walk home."

And I left them behind, staring at the ground as I walked away feeling guilty and ashamed and pissed off at myself, at them, at anybody and anything. I fully expected Paul to come driving up at some point and beg usto get in the truck. But he didn't. I could hear him behind me (his truck had a distinctive grumble) and fought with myself to not turn around. We lost him cutting through the empty property on the corner, hearing his truck idle a bit then slowly speed up and head down the street. Watching him turn off, I decided to detour toward the little park a block away and sat down on the swings, Hank sitting quietly next to me.

I had spoken from the heart to the guys, saying things that I'd thought of often but never admitted out loud. And there was my dilemma. Had I just declared that I _couldn't_ be a CSI anymore; that I'd burned out, finally, after all these years? All the evidence seemed to point that way. But was all the evidence available?

Rubbing my face, I shook my head already knowing the answers. All the evidence had very little to do with dead bodies. It was nothing but emotions, emotions I'd managed to suppress for more years than I cared to count. But my carefully controlled existence had been undone, they would say, by the sweet smile, soft touch, quiet laugh and beautiful brown eyes of a certain tall brunette. She'd broken down my defenses and left me vulnerable to, as Catherine would say, being human. And while it lasted it was bliss. While it lasted.

Truth be told I was scared, scared of so many things and because of that particular feeling I let it interpose itself on top of everything else. The work can be dangerous and it left me feeling unable to protect her. Would I feel the same if we were clerks in a grocery? Probably. Whatever we did I would feel that way so her shrugging off my concern rattled me, pushing me off my game and into a downward spiral. And yet I'd felt a sense of triumph that I'd recognized Jeremy Roberts as the culprit. I could still put two and two together. I could possibly do what I used to do after a long vacation. Now I just had to figure out if I really wanted to.

Was that what it would take to restore faith in myself, my abilities? To find that animal and bring him to justice? There should be an easier way to feel good about waking up and moving through a day without having to deal with such stress every single minute. But even if figuring out what I wanted to do was murky at best, I would consider it my failure if I didn't step up and do what I do best. Todd was right. You don't forget even if you want to.

I looked out into the neighborhood, a peaceful place that could be shattered in an instant by the likes of Jeremy Roberts. And here I sit instead of helping. _If I do my full duty, the rest will take care of itself_ rolls through my brain. Duty. A moral obligation to help. And, as much as I'd like to deny it, I know I can help, can add another pair of eyes in ferreting out the whereabouts of this detriment to society. And it is my duty to give the Remington family closure if I can. It was the least and the most I could do.

Looking at Hank who'd been resting his chin on my leg, I smiled at him. He whined a bit then perked up as I began scratching behind his ears.

"Despite all the time we take in life to achieve, all the accolades, all the money, all the merits that are attached to our name, we can't take them with us when we leave this fair place. So maybe . . . maybe it's time I take myself off the fish board and try to be brave once again. What say you?" A quick bark, paws on my leg and a slobbering kiss was my answer. I hugged him then and returned a kiss of my own. "Let's go home to mom and the kids, okay? _(bark, bark)_ Come on then. No time like the present."

csicsicsi

Dropping Hank's leash on the sidetable near the backdoor, I stopped flat at an odd call coming from the kitchen.

"Fin? Is that you?"

Peeking around the corner, I see mom standing before a sink full of fish, giving Hank a good head rub, the kids twining about his legs. She looked up and smiled even though I could see she was worried.

"Did you just call me Fin?" I signed to which she nodded. "Where . .?"

"Jules called to ask after you and called you Fin. When Paul delivered your day's haul, I asked him about it."

A brief grin played with my mouth. "Did he tell you that everyone has a nickname?"

"Oh, yes. Let me see. Todd is Chum because he fell overboard and Charlie is Chowder. I can't remember . . ."

"He won a blue ribbon for his chowder recipe when he was 12."

"That's right. Um, Jules is Perch because it was better than Bonita," she said with a chuckle. "And Paul is Scales because it sounds dangerous. But he didn't tell me why you're Fin."

"Because Shark bait, Clammy and Fish didn't carry much appeal."

She laughed then and my twitching lips actually felt like grinning. "I'd take Fin, too."

Nodding, I sat at the counter, picking up a paper clip lying on her want list wondering if I should share my latest epiphany. The last time I shared I thought she was going to throw something.

"So, ah, Jules called?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could (which wasn't very much) even though I know she can't hear me. But she always seems to know.

"He was just checking in. Wanted to know if you got home okay," she signed back trying to get me to look at her. That made me feel a bit better knowing that, perhaps, I hadn't completely destroyed our friendship. "Soooo is everything okay?" she asked as she leaned on the counter across from me.

I gave her a half smile knowing I'd tell her what went on but not now. Instead I took her hand in mine. "I've made a decision today."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. For me, nowadays, it's pretty big," I admitted.

"Go on," she gently urged curling her fingers about mine.

Now that she'd given me the go ahead the words jumbled up on my tongue. I coughed then cleared my throat and tried again. "I decided to be . . . brave."

"Brave?"

"Yeah, bold, daring, ah, fearless. You know, like I used to be when I was younger before the world stomped on me."

She cocked her head at that. "And?"

I held her gaze. I wanted to see what her face told me at this next bit. "I've decided to help Conway with the case."

Her mouth slightly pursed and I felt her hand tighten on mine. "Are you sure?" she asked.

I shrugged and shook my head. "No," I said with a forced laugh. "But it's something I have to do for myself."

"Just yourself?"

I looked at her for a moment then shook my head again. "Also, for the Remington family and Ally Corrs."

"Ally Corrs?"

Nodding, I looked toward our hands then back up at her. "She was Jeremy Roberts' last victim in Vegas. Sara . . ." I stumbled a bit and took a breath. "She found something but he was gone before we could arrest him. I would like to solve this case for her family as well."

"And for Sara?"

I grimace then dip my head. "And for Sara."

"And you will, you know, solve this. You're like a bloodhound. Once you pick up the scent the bad guys are doomed." She smiled again and this time it reached her eyes and I felt a bloom of confidence fill in the gaping holes inside me.

She's always been able to do that - make me feel competent no matter if my volcano blew up and splattered the walls with red sticky goo or when everyone thought there was something wrong with me when I refused to talk for a month after dad died. Mom's always been there and, when I try to thank her, she sloughs it off and says that's what moms are for. Well, I've met plenty of moms who don't give a damn. Annie Grissom isn't one of them.

We spent the evening trying to figure out where to put all the fish and making a triple portion of her Hawaiian Ono recipe to take to the guys. Mom took it over to Paul with a message that I wouldn't be fishing the next morning then returned and, over peach cobbler, I told her what happened and how it made me feel, right down to Hank and I in the park. Then I got beat playing a game or ten of Gin Rummy and found myself smiling by the time I headed up to bed. I slept like a baby.

If only everything was that easy.

Now, the morning after I'd taking my stand, I'm staring at the front door of the LAPD, the belief in myself waning the longer I sit here.

Brave. I was going to be brave. Doing this for the families. Doing this for myself. Reminding me that I _am_ capable, that I'm no longer the guy who walked into that store and stared down a gun barrel. I'm confident, sure, positive, definite in what I want to do . . .

And I'm still sitting in the car.

My vibrating phone makes me jump and I quickly retrieve it and touch the screen. A wash of good cheer comes from the speakers as the Fab Six _(with mom and Hank, honorary members, all lined up on the back porch)_ shouts out 'Good Luck' and 'Go get 'em, Fin!' then dissolve into laughter with Hank tossing in the requisite howl or two. A warmth cascades through me and my eyes fill. Great. I'm about to walk into 'macho land' and I'll have tears running down my face.

Ah, so what? It doesn't matter. I refuse to sneak in, hide in the shadows, and slip back out like a thief. That's the coward's way out. And I may be a lot of things but I'm not a coward . . . well, not anymore. Tears or no to hell with them! The emotionless stick isn't anymore. Deal with it!

Quickly I text back a great big thank you then pocket my phone, grab my keys and open the car door. Pulling myself to my feet I take a deep breath and straighten my jacket. There's no turning back now. I won't allow it. I never bowed down to FBI suits, Sheriffs or scumbag criminals and I won't start now even if it kills me.

This must be what a superhero feels like as he straps on his cape and looks over the city he defends.

Okay, that sounded like something Greg would say.

I take a longer, deeper breath, mentally shake himself, then start walking and feel as if I'm walking a gauntlet which inevitably turns to a quote. I can't seem to help myself.

"'Cannon to right of them'," I begin noting my hesitant steps slowly turn to strides. "'Cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them volley'd and thunder'd; storm'd at with shot and shell, boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell rode the six hundred'."

I'm at the door and I reach for the handle. This is my last chance to turn back. I glare at my reflection in the glass, ignore the sudden twitch of my eyelid and demand of myself to do what I set out to do - be brave.

Rolling my shoulders I pull open the door and hope I fair better than the 600.

* * *

_The first quote is attributed to General George S. Patton - If I do my first duty, the rest will take care of itself. The second quote or piece is from "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 118 men were killed, 127 wounded and 60 taken prisoner. Only 195 men were still with their horses, while 335 horses were either killed or put down. The charge was said to be ' magnificent' and 'madness'. The British cavalry was significantly enhanced as a result of the charge._

_Well, I hope you enjoyed this part. The section that flummoxed me were the nicknames for the guys. I'd originally written their scene as an intervention of sorts with them explaining their nicknames to Annie and why Gil was Fin. But ti didn't work no matter how hard I tried to force it. But I rearranged the scene and managed to use it anyway which means whatever you write, whether it works or not, keep it because you might be able to use it later._

I_'ve not decided yet if the next part belongs to Grissom and his LAPD experiences or back to Vegas. I'm toying with the idea of having Sara (just out of the hospital) bunking with Brass and driving him crazy. What say you? I want to please myself with this story but I love reviews so I really want to please you guys more. Let me know what you want. Thanks for reading. Happy trails!_


	21. Chapter 21

_I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKKKKK! First off let me apologize for the massive delay in posting this piece. My holiday season 2011 was exquisitely disorganized._

_I was conducting a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer auction on eBay (a word to the wise - don't put over 30 items on sale to end at the same time); I got sick halfway through that auction and a week before Xmas - stomach flu - in bed for 2 days, off work for a week; when I got back to work I was asked to do the entertainment for not one but two retirement parties with a due date of Jan 18. Working madly to create the entertainment (which includes massive amounts of of research) I was ready . . . and then we had a snow storm on Jan 18th so the party was pushed to Jan 20th - we had an ice storm on Jan 19th - I was stuck at home for 3 days. FINALLY, the party was held on Jan 26 and it was a success! Finally, I was free to get back to my story then . . . my boss tells me that the big boss is going to be coming around Jan 31 (today) to look at our graphs (of which I had fallen behind what with the party and all that). So, I worked through the weekend, got everything ready, had the walk-thru with the big boss today and HELLO, I'M BACK! (Watch. We'll probably lose power in the middle of all this.)_

_So, here it is. A bit long but I thought I should add extra for all my loyal readers who've been reminding me that you're all still out there patiently waiting. I completely appreciate that. Please know that I will never give up on this piece (especially since I already know the ending) even tho there may be patches where a bit of time passes between posts. (I'm putting that in in case I take a bit longer for Part 22 since I'm just now feeling out the draft. Sneaky, huh?)_

_I'm sending out a big THANK YOU to everyone.  
_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 21 - 2 weeks later**

**Al Robbins**

"Come on in and take a load off," Jim calls to me as I hobble through his doorway and into his office.

"I was hoping you'd ask," I say dropping into the offered seat, letting out a long breath.

"That bad, huh?"

"You have to ask?" He chuckles and pulls out a bottle of Scotch from a drawer along with two glasses. Filling them up he pushes one toward me. "I love a guy who's prepared," came out of me before downing it in one gulp. The burn makes me feel better.

"Oh, that _is_ bad," he says refilling my glass. I take my time with this one.

"Bad oh bad, let me count the ways. David's out sick; Jimmy took a tumble on sight and twisted his knee; the new kid, Clarence, doesn't know which way is up and six people had the gall to get themselves killed in a bus accident thus clogging up my morgue and the hallway outside. Not to mention that Judy's birthday is in two days and I haven't the foggiest what to get her."

"You could give her a personal tour of the morgue when it's slow," he tells me with a wiggle of his brows. "Heard those rolling tables, even though cold, heat up real nice."

"Been there, done that. What else?" I ask as he shakes his head and grins.

"The woman has _you_. What else does she need?"

I smile. "Good answer. I'll be sure to tell her that when I walk out with nothing on but a bright red bow."

"You know I've missed this," he says and an eyebrow pops up my forehead. "It's usually Gil sitting where you are, swirling his drink, pondering the day's events. Together we try and figure out why people do what they do."

"Ever get any answers?"

"Not many," he replies sipping at his drink.

I stare off behind him. "I hope he's finding those answers now."

"I think he is. Slowly," he adds then grins again. "But then, slow is his middle name."

That draws a quick laugh from me and I shake my head. "I like to think of it as unhurried."

"I like that."

"The man's brilliant, Jim. You can't hurry brilliance."

"He's also a pain in the ass."

"As are we all at one time or another." He nods then and we both take a drink.

"I heard about the ferret," Jim goes on offering to refill my glass, corking up the bottle when I decline and secreting it back in his desk

"That bastard tried to bite me. I reacted is all."

"Boy, howdy, I don't want to be around you when you react."

"I can't help it if he wasn't faster than the bottom of my cane. It reminded me of that time Gil and I chased that rat all over the morgue."

"I heard the screams."

"That was us," I giggle finishing my drink, enjoying the sound of Jim's laugh.

"Hey, I've got an idea for Judy."

"Let me have it."

"I know someone who'll clean up your house for you in record time and she's cheap, too," he says as I give him a questioning look.

"Name please," I request already pulling out my pen.

"Oh, you don't need to write her name down."

"I don't?"

"Nope."

"I know her?"

"Very well." I frown then go through the rolodex in my head of females and draw a blank, giving him a shrug. "Did you know Sara is very neat?" he seriously asks.

Puzzlement gone, I can't help but chuckle. "Can't find anything can you?"

He vigorously shakes his head. "Not a thing. After she got out of the hospital she stayed with me for 24 hours. 24. I can't even imagine what she would've done with 48."

I laugh then and his scowl slowly transforms into a smile. "You love it."

"I just want to find my favorite mug. Is that asking too much?" Now I laugh even harder. "It's not funny."

"It was your Gene Autry mug wasn't it?"

He points at me. "I think she's in league with Grissom and his Roy Rogers fetish. I wouldn't put it past him to instill in her a love for that drugstore cowboy."

My eyes are tearing and it feels good. Today was barely a day for a weak twitch of the lips and this does me good. A good laugh shared by friends is one of the best things in the world.

"It was nice to see her back today," I finally say once I've gathered a breath. "Just a little limp leftover. Her hand still looks pretty bad but that'll heal. She was in good spirits."

"We got another Email from Annie," he says. "It was a good Email."

"Tell," I push leaning my elbows on his desk.

I'd managed to figure out that Jim was hearing something from out west and kept my eyes on him, latching on to every comment just to see if I could figure out what he was hiding. But he's a cop – a good cop – and I got nothing so when I couldn't stand it anymore, I asked him point blank. And he told me everything. Judy's right. Stop beating around the bush and just ask.

"It would seem our intrepid CSI has gone back to work," he informs me.

"LAPD?" I ask genuinely interested.

"Yep. As a consultant."

I frown. "Doesn't he have to go through psych to be reinstated?"

"For his regular job here, yes," he says with a nod. "Attaching 'consultant' to his position with Director Germen's name attached is like magic there. Poof! He's got clearance."

"Is that a good thing?" I ask holding Jim's gaze as he finishes his drink.

"He was in bad shape when he left but, the Fab Four have done wonders for him."

"You know that surprised me. Gil and fishing? Didn't sound like a good combination."

"It surprised me too. Sitting out there waiting for something to grab the bait seems like it would be too slow for him, not enough brain action to keep him occupied."

"That man does like to learn," I admit with a nod. "But then Gil's always been a mystery."

"I think he likes it that way. And I'm impressed that he got back on the horse. According to Annie it seemed to be a big decision for him, whether or not he wanted to keep doing what he's so good at. It's like he's testing the waters."

"I would expect nothing less," I say leaning back in my chair as Jim looks at me. "How would you feel if you'd asked a man to kill you and everyone knew about it?"

"Like I'd want to hide away forever."

"And this is Gil we're talking about. The man excels at everything. And he lost it. Not in the confines of his house but out in the open for all to see. I didn't think we'd ever seen him again. Thought he'd just disappear, tuck himself away somewhere and never come out."

"I believe that was his plan until the Fab Four got a hold of him. Things changed after that. Slowly, he's been getting better and now, his first steps back into the fold revolve around the thing that started it all. Jeremy Roberts."

A bomb going off in the lab wouldn't have surprised me as much as that. Jeremy Roberts. Sara had told me, in great detail, about the case and what happened (after I wheedled it out of her, of course).

"Don't tell Sara," Jim informs me with a pointed finger in my direction. "She doesn't need to know that at this point. I think it would be best coming from Gil."

"Cross my heart," I say, doing just that. "Man, when he dives in he doesn't shy from the deep end."

"I'm thinking it's a good thing," Jim continues although his voice doesn't carry that commanding tone I'm used to. I look at him and he's nodding as if to convince himself. "It _is_ a good thing. Get it over with and out of his system and then, maybe, he'll be able to put some perspective on everything; weigh the good and the bad and resolve his issues with Sara and himself." He gives me an embarrassed smile. "Wishful thinking, I know."

"Hey, can't hurt," I add. "Wishful thinking has gotten me through more stuff."

"Me, too. I kind of keep that in my back pocket though. Can't have that frilly thing messing up my gritty cop persona and all."

"Yeah, right," I grin.

"There you are," comes from behind me and I recognize Warrick's voice. swinging a look over my shoulder. "We're all going to breakfast to welcome Sara back. Get your butts in gear and come on." He points at his watch and heads out as I pull myself wearily to my feet, Jim doing the same.

"Scotch and pancakes, mmm-mm," I say rubbing my belly.

"A real man's breakfast," Jim quips as he loosens his tie and follows after me.

"Maybe I can get out of Sara where your mug is," I offer as we head down the corridor.

"Would you do that? 'Cause I really miss Gene," he says with all honesty. I can't help but laugh as I pat him on the back.

**Greg**

I've never had so many people over to my place before. Yeah, sure, Nick and Warrick are regulars. But I've had Jacqui, Archie, Henry and Bobby along with Super Dave and even Catherine. I would be ecstatic if I thought they were here for me but I know they're here for Sara. As much as she likes to play the loner, she's not very good at it. But I won't be the one that tells her that. Oh, no. I just got back onto her good side and I'm not planning on traveling that road any time soon, no thank you. It was bad. It was worse than bad. It was the most horrible thing ever. It's kind of like having your dog mad at you (not that I'm comparing Sara to a dog) but Sara and I have always . . . well, we've always clicked. She never treated me like a Lab Rat, always as a friend so to have that back . . . It's like gold, man. Like gold.

So when I suggested she might want to stay with me instead of Brass after getting out of the hospital, I wasn't sure if she'd accept. She and Brass have this thing going. He's sorta like her Grissom-in-waiting or something. They're even developing this non-verbal communication I've seen her do with Grissom like forever. It's scary, but it's also nice. It makes me feel comfortable when all the pieces are working. And, with her here, it makes me feel like I'm paying Grissom back by taking care of her for him. I'm still worried about that, about when he comes back, so I want to show him that I'm not as juvenile as-as I have been. Call it blackmail or sucking up. I don't care. As long as I get back into his good graces, too.

It was kind of funny the first few days she was with me. She's changed. BG (before Grissom) she would've insisted on staying at her own place, taking care of herself by herself. But this time she seemed pleased about having someone care for her. All that time I was mad at her I didn't think about how she was alone. Her own doing or not it must've been painful. I've never had anyone live with me. I went straight from home to school then to my own place. My roommates at Stanford ruined me to the idea of ever having them again.

But, this time is different. I'm not afraid she'll get in my stuff or read my diary (yes, I have a diary) or see me in my Jurassic Park underwear. (Dino DNA rules!) I feel comfortable sharing my space. And knowing she's here makes me sleep better. Don't know why, maybe because I'm not worried about her so much being on her own when she's just in the next room.

I'm gonna miss her when she heads back home which should be soon. Maybe I can talk her into staying longer, keep me company, at least, until Grissom gets home. But I don't know if she'll stay. Whatever she wants is fine with me. Someone will be here for her. She's got a family here and she knows it. I've told her often enough. I just hope she believes it.

Oh, there's Warrick pointing at his watch. Nodding, I hurry off to Trace knowing Hodges has probably trapped her again since she's lab bound because of her hand. Another feather in my cap if I whisk her away right under his nose. Besides, I don't want to be late. Those who arrive late to breakfast get stuck with the tab and Nick eats like a horse.

"Ah, Sara, there you are."

**Nick**

Damn traffic is gonna make me late for breakfast and that always means the same. _I_ pick up the check. And today's gonna be expensive what with it being Sara's first day back. I'm betting half the lab'll show up, maybe more. Frank's won't know what to do with all of us. Probably get tossed out. That many of us in one room, the decibels go through the roof usually after we start laughin' and, once that starts, it ain't gonna end soon.

But that's okay. We all need to laugh after this week. Must be a full moon or something 'cause all the crazies are out. If it's not that bus crash from today (sideswiped by a guy in a Scream mask) it's the house fire two nights ago started by a kid who thought the 'colors were pretty'. Then the two sisters who found out they were datin' the same man and went after each other so he wouldn't have to choose. The man stepped away without a care in the world. Bastard. Oh, and there was the foot in a shoe that came up at Lake Mead. Still don't get that one. Now I know there aren't any sharks at the lake but there were chew marks on the ankle bone. Makes me cringe just thinkin' about what's actually in that lake I've gone swimmin' in.

Sara took it all in stride. Gathered up all our evidence and processed it as best she could one handed. She looked good, even with the bruises on her face. They were turning that God awful purple-green-yellow color but, at least, the swelling was down. Now her hand is still messed up and I know it pains her but she's a trouper, always has been. I'm just so glad she's willing to let me help which is a lot different than she used to be BG (as Greg says). It was like a fault against her if she accepted help but now, now that things are mostly back to normal, she's letting us in like never before and it makes me feel wanted, I guess. Or it could just be relieved.

That night we made up was like a heavy weight lifted from me. And her as well. She laughs and smiles easier now despite her still not knowing what will happen with Grissom. Still I can see it sometimes, in her eyes, especially when his name is mentioned which is, at least, three times a week. Usually case related but sometimes it's a punny crack, usually delivered by Greg (although I've heard a few from Doc Robbins) like the time we found three eyeballs and no owners. Greg and his cheeky smile exclaimed 'the eyes have it' to which we all groaned and threw whatever we could at him. He responded with 'you wouldn't have thrown anything at Grissom' which made us throw more. Sara missed, throwing left handed and all. 'You throw like a girl' came from Warrick who then got nailed by a paper wad she'd intended for Greg, or so she claimed. We broke up laughin' until Ecklie walked up, cleared his throat, called us a bunch of miscreant teenagers, handed out assignments and told us Catherine would be late. As soon as he left we all resumed our gigglin' and couldn't stop the rest of the night. Felt like old times.

It makes me feel . . . I don't feel like I'm gonna grind my teeth down to nubs worryin' over what the night will bring anymore. I mean, I still worry about when Grissom comes back but I don't even know _if_ he's comin' back. I hope he does though. It'll be good for everyone to have him home.

Ah, I see a space and I'm taking it. I'll be damned if I'm paying for everyone's breakfast. Greg eats like a horse.

**Sara**

"We're the last one's here," I say to Greg as he squeezes his car into the tiniest spot around the back of Frank's.

"You don't know that," he flings over his shoulder as he quickly works his way out of the car and starts running.

"Hey!" I yell thinking horrible thoughts about that little imp not taking pity on a recovering klutz.

"You're the guest of honor! You don't have to pay!" he shouts back as he disappears around the corner.

A grin comes to me when I hear 'oh, man!' barely a few seconds later and know he didn't make it. My belief is reinforced when he comes back around the side of the building, head hung down, hands in his pockets.

"Too late?"

"Yep," he answers with a heavy sigh, holding out his elbow for me to grab.

"Want to borrow some money?"

"I'm pretty sure that's a given," he says as we head toward the open door held by a grinning Nick.

"Hey, Greggo," he says.

"Yeah, whatever," comes next as we duck inside, everyone at the table calling out Greg's name making him sigh.

The whole gang's here from Catherine to Super Dave, Wendy to Bobby Dawson. I settle in between Jim and Doc Robbins and smile at their smiling faces. This is good. This is really good.

I'm proud of myself actually for not secreting away inside my own head after the accident; feeling sorry for myself and wondering why I do the things I do. Yes, that means Gil. I can't help it. I think about him all the time. I wish I could turn back time and understand it was fear not any doubts about my work that caused those words between us. But that's in the past. I must look toward tomorrow and the thought that he might . . . he might contact me . . . and won't that be the best day ever.

"Sara?" drifts into my ear and, startled, I look up.

"Huh?"

Doc Robbins gives me a smirk. "What would you like for breakfast, my dear?"

I try not to turn red but fail miserably, knowing by his look he knows I've got Gil on the brain. "Ah, I'll have the Desert Omelet and a big glass of orange juice."

"All right," waitress Annie says then moves onto Greg, my mind drifting back to Gil and the first time we shared breakfast together.

I've always enjoyed breakfast for dinner and, sometimes, dinner for breakfast, and with our weird schedules I'm glad of that. But that particular day, I really wanted some oatmeal and the only place I really liked was the Sunrise Cafe on Eastern - the Oatmeal Overload with sides of blueberries, banana, granola, raisins and brown sugar. Yummy. Gil and I were coming in from a scene and I'd been talking about the cafe for over an hour. I took a breath and he offered to take me to breakfast. We'd been to breakfast before but with the team. Never just the two of us. And I was stunned, giddy and petrified all at once. I'm sure I made him nervous with my response.

"Ah, oooookay." It sounded lame even to my ears.

His brows rose. "If you don't want to . . ."

"No, no. I'd like to go. Yes, let's go."

He frowned at me then nodded. "Okay."

Now I was jumpy. Everything was running through my head. What does this mean? Does it mean anything? Why am I worried? It's Grissom. It's Grissom, that's why I'm worried. It means nothing. Nothing, just friends. We're just friends. I shouldn't think it's anything . . ."

"Sara?" came at me and my head jerked up. "We're here," he said, his voice upbeat followed by a slight grin. Looking about I found we were parked at the Sunrise Cafe. I believe my mouth fell open. "Is this okay?" he asked ducking his head back in when I didn't get out of the car.

"How . . ?" I stammered.

He grinned. "You've been talking about it since we got in the car. The Oatmeal Overload?"

"Oh," was all that seemed appropriate. Foolishness is a friend of mine and it had just come for a return visit. I turned away to hide my rosy cheeks and got out of the car, taking off my CSI vest and tossing it into the back seat to give me time to compose myself. All right. This is all right. He's just being nice.

"You okay?" he asked touching my arm as I came up next to him making me skip a step and stub my toe.

"Ah, yeah," I said trying to cover my missing the ground with a little skip. "I just love the Overload."

I smiled then and he smiled back after a moment's hesitation. And there it was. That look, the one when he was really pleased by something, that stretched across his entire face and flooded his eyes with warmth. And he was sharing it with me. I hadn't seen that in a very long time.

"Good because I want to see why it's so special to you."

"You do?"

"Of course, honey." Honey, he called me honey.

"Why?"

"Because you like it," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Come on. They stop serving it at 11:00am."

He took my hand then and dragged me (not unwilling) to the door, a big smile on his face. We made it just in time, decided which toppings we liked best and talked about inane things. We did the same thing the next day, and the next day after that and it became a ritual of sorts that soon drifted into lunch then dinner then . . . everything else.

I've always considered that our first date, the first time he opened himself up to me in ways he'd never done before. The first time he didn't draw back when the step had been made. The first time I truly believed that what I'd wanted all this time would actually take hold.

It makes me smile now even though things are different as I demolish my omelet, barely taking a breath before starting on my orange juice, hoping I haven't missed out on any direct questions to me. Looking about, no one is staring at me. I think I'm in the clear. Then my juice sloshes up in my face as Doc Robbins pushes against my arm to get my attention.

"Could you do me a favor, Sara?" he asks as I put down my glass and wipe my face with a napkin.

"Of course."

"Would you please tell Jim where you put his Gene Autry mug. He can't find it and it's driving him crazy." I haven't laughed that loudly since . . . since BG (as Greg puts it). "You didn't do it on purpose did you?" he asks but, before I can put two words together, Jim jumps in.

"It's Gil's fault," he adds, giving me the eye. "He's turned you against Gene hasn't he?"

I believe he's serious and let the mirth go. "I've nothing against either Gene or Roy. They both have their own merits." Jim narrows his eyes and purses his lips. "Both Trigger and Champion are beautiful faithful companions and to have such loyalty, both men were at the top of their game."

I wait and watch that bit of information head into Jim's brain and know I've gotten through.

"Thank you for that," he finally says.

I place my hand on his. "Gene is in with your other mugs on the second shelf of the cabinet by the stove. I believe your New Jersey Devils and LVPD mugs are in front of it." He heaves a heavy sigh. "I would never hurt Gene despite Gil's infatuation with Roy. There's room for two singing cowboys in this world."

"My thoughts exactly."

"But don't tell Gil I said that," I whisper just as my phone lets out a loud ring.

It startles me, not so much because the ring seems awfully loud but because of the ringtone itself – Dance of the Bumble Bee. Obviously I need some sleep so choose to ignore it because I can't be hearing that tone. I just can't.

It rings again. This time my breath catches in my throat and then my heart skips a beat. It _is_ Dance of the Bumble Bee. I stare at Jim who looks worried. He should be. I think I'm going to faint.

"Sara?" he whispers, covering my hand with his own.

Could it be? Could it actually be?

Slowly, a soft smile comes to Jim's face and I know he knows. "Take the call," he says. My hand automatically retrieves the phone and I dare look at the screen. Now my heart is beating its way out of my chest!

"Take the call," Jim whispers in my ear.

"It's . . . it's an Email," I explain, all other sound gone but Jim's voice.

"It's okay to leave," he says and I turn toward him. There's a certainty in his craggy face that I take a great amount of calm from.

"I, ah, I have to go," I hear myself saying to the group even though I'm holding Jim's gaze.

"What?" Greg says through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

I glance toward him, then the others. "I have to go. Um, sorry."

"I'll take you," Jim quickly adds and I toss a grateful smile at him.

"What's wrong?" Nick asks, worry causing him to frown.

"Nothing. I forgot I had a doctor's appointment this morning," I say holding up my hand. "My phone just reminded me." They seem to buy it. "Thank you so much for this and for everything all of you've done for me since my accident. You guys are the best."

"Well, yeah," Warrick adds as everyone else nods.

"Get some sleep," Catherine adds, "cause if tonight's anything like the last three nights . . ."

Everyone agrees with nods and moans as I stand, limping my way over to Greg to stuff some money in his shirt pocket. "For last night," I say with a wink then limp away, Jim having to trot to keep up with me.

I can hear Nick rag on Greg then everyone laugh and I smile despite the volume of nerves that are shooting through me. I might crush my phone if I'm not careful as I hold it to my chest, Jim doing me a kindness by turning on his lights and siren to get me home faster. Soon we're there and he pulls to a stop . . . and I can't move. I finally have what I want and now I'm scared to death. I feel his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Whatever it is, you do know you can talk to me, right? Good or bad."

I give him a slight nod. "I do. I do, Jim, and that means the world to me. Thanks for being my friend, mine and Gil's."

"I consider myself lucky you both put up with me." He gives me a bit of a chuckle and I can't help but lean over and kiss his cheek. He's flustered and waves at me to get out of the car. "Go on now. He who hesitates is lost."

I open the door, pause a moment, then get out. "I love you, Jim Brass. Don't ever forget that."

"Good or bad. I'm here. Don't ever forget _that_."

I shut the door, give him a wave then hurry as fast as I'm able up the stairs, fumbling with my key to get into my place, shutting the door behind me and leaning heavily against it. Slowly, I bring up the phone to stare at the Email address and my heart starts that two-step again, my body catching up with it as I practically run to my laptop and switch it on, not bothering to sit because I'll just be back on my feet in a millisecond. So I pace instead and chew on my nails, straighten things that are already straight, water the plant Gil got for me, read the card, and even stroll into the bathroom to brush my hair like that'll make any difference to anything.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I look away and grab hold of the sink, trying to slow my racing heart. I take in a deep breath and ease it out, repeating the process until I stop shaking, until my stomach stops trying to reintroduce my omelet to the world. It's only then I stand up straighter, smooth down my shirt and head back to my laptop.

The desktop photo of Gil and the kittens greets me and I realize, in a blaze of glory, that this quite possibly will be my future I'm about to see. My mouth goes dry and the shaking is back. I dread what may be coming yet can't wait to know. Everything has been leading to this moment, this flash of time that'll either deliver me from my endless worry or destroy me in a split second.

But I must be brave. Gil would want me to be brave.

I click on Firefox then open my Email, staring at the familiar address right on top. My finger hovers over the touchpad and I close my eyes. This could be the end.

But it could be a new beginning.

"Be brave. Be brave. Be brave," I whisper as I drop my finger and open my eyes.

* * *

_The Sunrise Café is a real café in Las Vegas & the Oatmeal Overload is on their menu. Firefox is Mozilla Firefox.  
_

_Okay, the flogging will commence. I'm willing to take it 'cause you know I couldn't actually show you the Email. Not yet anyway. I hope you enjoy what I've put forth and forgive me my long silence. _

_Next up we're back to Grissom and his time with the LAPD. Again, I've just started putting his piece together but I'm hoping (fingers crossed) to get it posted in a much shorter time than Part 21. Thanks again and Happy Valentine's Day (in case I completely run out of words and don't post before then. I have to cover my bases just in case). :-D  
_


	22. Chapter 22

_Thank you, thank you to all of those who reviewed Part 21. It's nice to know you're still out there. Thanks RollWithIt, jafox, Otie1983, My Kate, was spratlurid quimby, SevernSound, NickyStokes, TessTrueHeart, Moonstarer, and, of course, Nancy1. Thanks to all of you._

_Now, as I was putting Part 22 together I found that it got away from me so I split it up. By the time I was done I had Part 22-23-24-25 which would end Act 2 which was supposed to end many chapters before. And this is a bit of an experiment because all of these remaining parts take place in one day. The flashback sections (Grissom's POV) cover the 2 weeks he spent at LAPD and what happened along the way. There are bits of information in this piece (and maybe those upcoming) that may make you go 'hey, what?' but, don't worry, it will eventually come together. (I hope!) Well, that's enough info. Let's get started._

_Onward ~_

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**Part 22**

**Grissom**

I did it. I actually did it.

My finger hovered over the send key for so long I don't remember pressing it but I can see by the sent message, I did. Now I want to throw up. I should recall it. Yeah, I should bring it back. I shouldn't have sent it!

"Don't even think about recalling it," comes mom's voice right behind me.

I jump a foot and bang my knees on the desk, a string of curse words drifting out of my mouth. (I'm glad she can't hear because, even at my advanced age, I think she'd still cuff me.) She putters around then leaves the room and I drop my head into my hands, banging my new pink cast against my brow. Great. First my knees now my face.

I'm gonna throw up.

An insistent mew draws my eyes open to peer through fingers into the sweet faces of the kids, leaning in closely to see what I'm up to. I can't help but grin then wiggle my fingers which makes them hunch down and ready themselves to strike. We've been here before. They should know what I'm about to do but don't seem to remember or care for that matter. Their butts start twisting, their whiskers move forward and I grab them as they launch, roll them over and tickle their tummies. As much as I see Hank smile I swear they're laughing and find myself doing the same.

They're getting so big, so fast. Where once I could cup both of them in one hand, now it takes two. Time flies no matter what. It seems like yesterday I found them in a sack, bedraggled, near death, never sure if they'd make it through the day and ever grateful when they did. Sara would love them as I do.

Sara.

The Email.

Oh, God! What if she doesn't get it? What _if_ she gets it but doesn't respond? What if she gets it, responds and it's not what I expect? Maybe I should've put more thought into this, waited a few more days before I told her. But then someone else might tell her and I should be the one even though I didn't tell her anything. Jesus, I'm a mess.

There's a raspy tongue on my finger and I turn my fragmented attention back to the kids, wondering about all life gives when you're not looking.

"You know how cute you guys are right?" _(mew)_ "I knew you did. I mean how could you not? You've got a grown man making oogy noises at you every chance he gets and big brother Hank letting you walk all over him. We're pushovers, both of us." _(mew) _"What? Well, yeah, it's easy when you're small and covered with fur but new people. . . that's not easy. I've met a dozen or more new people these last two weeks and I'm not so sure they'd think I was a pushover. They're good though. They work hard, their persistence and inquisitiveness reminds me of my team . . ."

My voice trails off and I wonder at the feelings that thought stirs up. When I first came here all that mattered was getting away, hiding myself from the world. Now, though . . . now that I've kind of gotten back into the swing of things, I find I miss them. Even Hodges. Of course, I'd never admit that out loud.

"I'm not sure I can call them _my_ team anymore. I sort of threw that away when I walked into that store." _(mew, mew)_ "Yeah, it makes me sad and that surprises me. But, then you don't really know how much some people mean to you until they aren't there anymore." I can hear the kids purring and smile at them as I scratch under their necks. "But Conway's people are good, too."

And it's true. They are. I recognized that almost immediately upon meeting them even though I nearly turned tail and ran. That first day, when I walked purposely into the LAPD, I figured I'd made a big mistake once the door closed behind me. It could've been because my heart suddenly relocated to my throat and my breath was hard to catch or the fact that I had to brace myself against the wall for a moment, enough to draw the attention of Connie Taggert (or so her nameplate read) sitting at the front desk.

Suddenly at my side, water cup in hand, she peered up at me. "Dr. Grissom, are you all right?" she asked in a pleasantly soft twang that would fall lightly against my ears as the coming days would pass.

"Thank you," I answered taking the offered water from her and carefully sipping it, not even noticing she'd called me by name. "Just got a bit lightheaded there for a moment," I explained to which she nodded.

"Sometimes that blast of AC at the door'll do that to you." She was so nice and all I wanted to do was leave. "Do you need to sit down?"

I remembered then about the '600' and how I'd planned on being brave and stood a bit straighter. "No-no, thank you. I'm feeling much better now."

"Are you sure?"

"I am," I boldly said with a nod.

"Okay, then. Where can I direct you?"

She smiled and, for some reason, it made me calm down. I've no clue why. Disarming smiles from young ladies don't normally do that to me . . . Except for Sara.

"Conway Germen's office. I don't have an appointment but I believe he's expecting me. Gil Grissom."

"I know," she said moving behind her desk. "Let's see where he is."

My eyes followed her as she sat down and I frowned. She knew my name. It suddenly sunk in that she'd called me by name when I'd come in. She was looking at me now with a friendly smile. I turned away. She would know what I'd done. All the people at the front desk know every bit of news that echoed down the halls so she would know and yet . . . and yet I detected not a single note of pity or disgust or anything unpleasant. I felt myself begin to relax and took another drink. It couldn't be this easy. Could it?

"Gil," came Conway's cheery voice from down the hall making me turn. "So glad you could make it."

"Yeah," was all I could muster up at the moment.

"Come on, we'll talk in my office. Thank you, Connie," he said as he passed her desk.

"It's an honor to meet you, Dr. Grissom," she slipped in as I walked past. I gave her a partial grin before Conway dragged me into his office and shut the door, offering me a seat.

"I didn't think you'd come," he admitted as I scanned the room, noting the Monarch butterfly display I'd given him when I'd left L.A. years before hanging directly behind his chair. I was surprised he still had it.

"I didn't think I would either," I finally answered, a worrisome look on my face as I sat down and placed the empty water cup on his desk.

He peered at me then nodded. "I understand. I really do and, if it gets too much for you, just tell me and go. I'm not trying to set you back or anything."

"Thanks," was all I could say wondering if that would be any more embarrassing than what I'd already been through in Vegas.

"Okay," he said with a heavy sigh. "Okay. First off, thanks. I can't say it enough. Secondly, your Catherine's a spitfire."

I frowned at the change of topic. "And you would know this how?" I asked, my eyes centering on him.

"We spoke after you kindly informed me she thought I was a car salesman," he said with a smirk. "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome."

"She was nice as pie. Didn't call me smarmy once so I was sure you'd misheard."

"But?" I asked seeing him pull up a piece of paper.

"She sent a note with the Roberts file and I quote "'Don't think you can pull Grissom out from under us without a fight. I have long fingernails and an even longer reach. Treat him right or I'll be at your door in a heartbeat and it won't be pleasant.'"

I rubbed a hand over my leg and grinned. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Ooo-wee," he smiled. "I'd like to meet her one day."

"I'm sure if you hogtie me here, you'll meet her pretty quick."

Conway held up his hands. "I've no plans to hogtie you, Gil. You're here as a favor to me." I watched him tuck the letter away then sit back in his chair. "I merely hope that you rethink the many offers I've plagued you with over the years and stay for a little while as I ply you with all the perks I can think of to make you stay willingly. And, if you choose to do so, you'll be able to protect me from Catherine."

"That would cost extra."

"No doubt," he stated

I grinned and watched as he gave me a sorta smile then a variation of a grimace, like he was putting together what he wanted to say in hopes of not offending me or something. It was all very odd. So I waited the appropriate amount of seconds then leapt in.

"I still have time to catch the next fishing boat."

He rubbed at his forehead and sat back, straightening his jacket, all smiles gone. "I know how hard this is for you, Gil, and you'll never know how much I appreciate it. I've spoken with my teams and they've all promised to behave themselves."

That turned my thoughts on end and I tensed up, my hand clutching at my leg. "Do they . . ." I hesitated then decided to plunge on ahead. "Do they know about what happened?"

He looked surprised. "If they do, they've not said a word to me."

Now I was confused. I'd never known Conway to lie to me. "Then why . . ."

"Gil, I had to make them promise to behave themselves in regard to, well, to their . . . infatuation with you."

My mouth dropped open. "What?"

"It's really disgusting," he began, hands waving in the air. "Everyone, from day, swing and night shift, once they found out you might be coming in, started squealing and running around straightening their desks and workstations." Relief washed through me. "I've even seen a few of your books showing up on people's desks. Most of them look well thumbed, I'll give 'em that, but come on," he said gesturing toward his nameplate. "_I _found the Sepulveda Blvd. Hatchet Man by tying together one broken piece of pottery and a maple syrup covered box of matches after everyone else had given up and do I _get_ that kind of respect?"

"They made you Director for that," I reminded him.

His next point seemed obliterated by that factoid and he lowered his raised finger and glared at me. I started to laugh which made his lip curl up on one end followed by a shake of the head.

"No respect," was all he said. "And now that they're going to actually meet you – their CSI superhero – it'll be even worse." He sighed. "Come on. Let's go."

My laughter came to an abrupt halt. "Right now?"

"No time like the present, Gil. Come on."

The next thing I knew I was being gently pulled from the chair and led to the now opened door. His first mistake was to let go of me. His second was to move off down the corridor without looking back, no doubt carrying on quite a conversation with me even though I was still stuck at that opened door. My feet were like lead and I had to grab the door frame and literally force myself to step out right into the path of Connie Taggert who handed me a visitor's pass.

"Make sure you have this on. Don't want anyone mistaking you for a perp."

I gave her a bit of a grin. "Hopefully not."

"Can't see that happening myself but stranger things have happened."

And she smiled at me. And it happened again. The churning stomach, the flop sweat, the nerves slowly calmed and I found myself following after Conway, albeit in a much slower gait than I probably should've since my innate inquisitiveness was getting the better of me as I passed glassed in rooms full of equipment and personnel. Only when I began to draw odd looks that soon turned to recognition did I hurry along in hopes that no one would flag me down and engage me in unwanted conversation.

It was while moving quickly away from one room that my eyes latched onto what appeared to be an alien spacecraft in another. It didn't look like any metal I knew. I had to give it a closer look.

"Could you hand me a ball-peen hammer please," arose from the bowels of the 'ship'.

Brows flew up my forehead. "Come again?" I dared to ask.

"There's a ball-peen hammer on the table there. Would you hand it to me please?" Looking about, I found what the voice needed and turned back, seeing a hand poking through a hole in the side of the 'ship'. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," I answered peeking in to see the back of his head. He looked human to me. "Um, I've not read anything in the UFO Digest about a found spacecraft in Los Angeles. Have I missed an issue?"

A deep laugh greeted me along with a set of dancing green eyes as he turned. "Nope. Haven't missed a thing."

"So, obviously, it's not real?"

"Depends on who you ask," he answered. "An audience or the actors who fly it."

"Ah." Well I _am_ in Los Angeles and Hollywood isn't that far away.

"Peter Parker," he said, his hand snaking back into view.

"Peter Parker?" I asked giving it a shake. I heard a sigh as I let go.

"Yeah. Mom thought it would be cool."

"I take it you don't like Spiderman?"

"Like him fine. It's spiders I don't particular care for. Nor any other bug for that matter."

"You're missing out."

"So everyone tells me."

"Gil Grissom," I gave back, waiting for . . . something, some comment, some remark that would send me straight out to the parking lot. But none came. None came.

"I bet that name was fun in the 60's," he commented making me think he didn't seem old enough to remember the space race.

"While I'm truly intrigued by the great reaches of outer space, I've never had a desire to be an astronaut. It's too . . ."

"Cold? Dark? Airless?" he filled in for me, my eyes falling on him as he emerged from the 'ship'. At first glance he reminded me of Greg.

"My thoughts exactly."

Patting himself down, he slapped a towel against his dark pants in hopes of erasing the dust before ambling over to the long table to set down the hammer. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Grissom."

"Just Grissom. Finally?" I asked watching him clean up the space.

"I've not been able to get close to you at the last three Forensic Conventions. By the time I got out of the nosebleed section, you were gone," he answered, finally turning toward me.

"I always leave my Email address with the coordinators."

"Yeah, well, being the new kid on the block means nobody pays much attention to me," he said with a shrug. "And the name doesn't get me much closer."

"I'm here now. Ask away."

An embarrassed chuckle escaped him. "Oh, now you've put me on the spot and I can't think of a thing."

I found myself liking this young man. He seemed so self-assured. Was I like that at his age? Probably. "No matter. Whenever and whatever."

"Thanks. I really mean that."

The sense of wellbeing that had overtaken me once I began talking to Peter immediately fled as a familiar voice arose behind me.

"It _is_ you."

I closed my eyes and cringed. Dexter Richter.

Of all the people I didn't want to deal with, Dexter Richter shared the #1 spot with Conrad Ecklie. A suck up from way back, he'd made my life troublesome while I'd been working in L.A. and held a personal grudge against me. I wouldn't put it past him to get on the overhead and shout 'I knew Grissom would ask someone to kill him back in '87 when he doped his cockroaches to win the Boston Derby!' Anyone who has any inkling of why I like to race cockroaches would know I'd never dope one. The joy of racing them is to see how they move, how they figure things out. Hopping them up on speed is not my idea of a good time. And, besides, if that was true, I would've won. I didn't. Case closed.

"Come crawling back looking for your old job? Vegas get wise and toss you out?" he continued.

I know I had a pinched look on my face and was surprised to see the same on Peter's.

"He's an ass," he whispered.

I just nodded, blew out a breath, and turned around. "Dexter."

"Grissom."

Oh, how I wanted to slap that smirk off his face; maybe rearrange his overgrowth of a mustache right under his busy eyebrows. I wasn't in the mood for a pissing contest though so I made it short and sweet.

"Have you made it to Assistant Medical Examiner yet, or are you still just driving the van?"

Peter snorted and Dexter's face turned red.

"I'll have you know that I've been the CMO for . . ."

"Gil, there you are," came from Conway as he walked into the room, a dark glance pointed directly at Dexter cutting him off mid-sentence. "I see you've already met Parker. Good lad, this one. And you know Richter," he said as an afterthought.

"Yes, I do." I glared at him. His face was getting redder as he glared back.

"Well, good. Talk later we've got a team to introduce. Come on," he urged, herding both myself and Peter away, leaving Dexter standing alone in the room. I could feel his eyes burning a hole in my back. "Stay away from him, Gil. You know how much he wants to smash your face in."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Exactly. I need at least one of your hands working," he commented. "Here he is," came next as he kindly pulled me into a room packed with people.

And those people attacked me with a bright row of teeth as they smiled. I took a step back. They all seemed so eager and it was overwhelming. Meeting new people in such a close space has always put me off a bit anyway, but when I was expecting something completely different . . .

"Frances Dewey," came from the tall black woman near Conway, holding out her hand. "Supervisor, day shift. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Grissom."

I took her outstretched hand. "Grissom."

She nodded and started introductions. "My team. Darcy Maine and Thomas Ho - CSI3's; Khandi Brooks, Melanie Stein - CSI2's. I hear you've already met Peter Parker. He's our newest CSI1. Only been with us for three months but he's a quick learner. Our Lab Rats are Topher Bale, Trace; Kurt Dupris, DNA; Sue-Lyn Daisy, Ballistics and Armand Hodges, Toxicology."

"Hodges?" I asked giving the young man an interested look, seeing him sigh.

"I'm not, nor do I want to be, related to David Hodges. I'll be the first to tell you he's a brilliant man but he's not in my gene pool thank God."

My brows rose up my forehead. Well, Hodges, my Hodges had mentioned he'd had trouble in L.A.

"Well that's all of us," Frances continued as if nothing was said, pulling my attention back to her. "We really appreciate you coming in to help. We've studied the file sent from your office and praise the legwork done by CSI Sidle. Her notes are thorough and extremely detailed."

Pride filled me. "They always are," I admitted with a half grin.

"But we still need your read on all of this. So, I'd like to do a round-table. You ask the questions and we'll provide whatever answers we have, plus a few theories now and then."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay, then," she said with a smile. "Guys, get your stuff and meet back here in five. Are you staying, Con?"

"No. There's a conversation I have to have with someone. I'll catch up," he said, sliding behind me then stopping to squeeze my shoulder. "Relax, Gil. Everything'll be fine. But remember what I said."

"I will."

I watched him go, hearing him call out to Richter in a tone Jim's used on perps. I tried to hide my pleased look but failed miserably and turned back to the room noticing everyone was already seated and looking expectantly at me. My mouth opened then closed on a comment about the five minutes I was supposed to have and immediately took the only open seat between Peter and Frances. Silence reigned as they all stared at me. I, in turn, stared at Frances.

"The floor's yours," she said.

Come on, Gil. Do what you do. Treat them like your guys. Don't stare at them like a deer in headlights.

Taking a deep breath, I cleared my throat and folded my hands atop the table. "Okay. Um, you may already know this but I feel the need to say it anyway. It's something I live by. Never make the evidence fit what you think happened. Let it speak for itself."

They nodded and had looks upon their faces like I'd said the most brilliant thing in the world. It took me back to the early days in Vegas when the team was new and eager and needed me to direct them down the right path. It had been a long time since they needed me for that.

"Tell me about April Remington's crime scene and if anything relates back to Ally Corrs' scene."

And they were off like a shot - methodical, precise, specific in their details and timelines, tossing out Sara's name as they moved along, and I soon found myself beginning to relax. I was in my element, back where I'd been comfortable and, even though I didn't know them, didn't know their abilities, I knew Conway and he knew me well enough that once I'd met this group and heard what they had to say I'd not be able to leave. Sneaky bastard.

So it wasn't any surprise that I stayed and, after an hour of give and take, found my mind working again, piecing bits together that I'd forgotten or had been too scattered to notice the first time around; too scattered because of Sara. That thought shot through me and I found myself sidetracked, especially when Darcy pulled out Sara's notes and handed them off to me.

I took them without thinking, flashing on her walking out of my office, having to close my eyes for a moment to reclaim the feeling of moments before. My fingers moved unconsciously over her chicken scratch and the vision changed to her sitting at a work table, diligently making sure that each and every piece of detail was expressed on those pages. That, in turn, reminded me of the beauty of her mind and the softness of her hands on my skin that always quieted any unrest the day would bring. My muscles loosened and I opened my eyes, noticing the silence around me.

"Sorry," I quietly said to Darcy. "You were saying?"

It didn't seem to faze her since she picked right back up. But my brain was off on something else. I needed to come to a decision, a decision about my inner demons and how they didn't belong here. No matter how worried I might be about regaining my old life or what respect my name might still carry (no matter what Conway said), I was here to catch a killer, here to make things right for two women who'd been brutally murdered. That _was_ my intention.

But I couldn't help but look at the flip side. I was also here to prove to myself that I could still do the job, still find the thrill of piecing everything together and take satisfaction when a bad man was removed from the streets. And because of that this was personal and _that_ could get me into trouble, trouble like spending time thinking on my life when I should've been paying attention to these CSI's who, unknowingly, were helping me.

I shouldn't be here. Emotions never play well with facts. I've told everyone that over and over again. Don't bring yourself into it. Don't lose the chance to get him because you're overwrought with anger and-and . . . . But Roberts was the man who'd sent my life into a tailspin just because Sara had taken an interest.

Maybe I shouldn't fight this. Maybe, once in my life, I should overlook my own rules and let things be because I can't lose this chance to make things right for Ally and April.

And for me.

And for Sara.

Sara.

Was it possible that this whole thing would let me find my way back to her without the fear that so consumed me as I ran home? It was a fear that I'd only recently noticed had been leaving me a bit at a time being replaced with that light I'd seen after my nightmare, a light that had been growing larger. How big would it be if we actually brought Roberts to justice?

It was something I was willing to fight for. I wanted control of my life back. What better way to get it?

Feeling much better after my inner dialogue, I actually smiled back at Darcy when she came to her conclusion. On some level I'd heard every word she'd said but there was no way I could ask any relevant questions so kept quiet. They seemed to accept that and nod at me. Oh, if they only knew what was going through my head.

"Well, that about covers it," Frances stated turning toward me. "I'm not sure how you'd like to handle the work. I can assign you a partner or you can use whoever is available. All have expressed an interest in working with you."

"I appreciate that. How about we just play it by ear?" I asked the assembled who all gleefully agreed. I should be used to this since it happens at my seminars but whether there or here it's always slightly bewildering.

"That's perfect," she said. "Where would you like to start?"

"I'd like to go over the evidence for April Remington then take a look at the crime scene if possible."

"Anything's possible," she answered with a grin. "I'll schedule that. In the meantime, Parker, get Grissom everything he needs."

I glanced over at Peter who looked incredibly pleased. No doubt he'd come up with a question by now and I couldn't wait to hear what it was. I always enjoyed teaching eager minds and, in this room, they all qualified. Now that I was past worrying whether I should be here or not, I was keen on getting started for starting brought me a lot closer to finishing and then, who knows what would happen next.

"So what's on for today?" comes mom's voice from behind me again and now I have more bruises on my knees. "Why are you so jumpy?"

I give her a disbelieving look. "Why are you always sneaking up behind me?" I sign.

She leans in close. "I've been doing that since you were a kid. You should be used to it."

Well, she's got a point. I shrug. "I'm . . ." I clasp hands together and shake my head. Her hands are warm over mine.

"It's a first step, Gil," she says. "Those are always the hardest." When I don't respond she does. "Did you progress past 'hi'?" she asks pointing at the laptop. "On your Email?"

I wince a bit. "A little."

"A little?"

"I, ah, may have managed a few more words than that. They probably weren't . . . They probably weren't the right words though."

"Doesn't matter," she says and I gape at her.

"It doesn't?"

She shakes her head. "What matters is you sent it."

If only it were that easy.

"What if she doesn't . . . What if I don't hear back from her?" I ask never taking my eyes from hers, wanting her to wave a magic wand and sooth my jangled nerves.

"She will."

"You don't know that."

"I do," she says with great authority and that stops me. "She is hopelessly in love with you, Gilbert. She _will_ write back."

Brushing a hand across my cheek, she steps back, making sure the kids and Hank have enough water in their bowls, turning her back to me. I follow her every move, silently thanking her for being my strength, something she's always been for me. I know she's doing busy work because I might need her or . . . or she's guarding against me recalling the message. That brings a smile and slowly I rise making my way towards her to lightly tap her shoulder and catch her in a big hug when she turns. Her arms wrap around me and hold on tightly.

After a minute or two, I lean back. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been here," I confess watching her confused look clear.

"Do you know how much a mother prays that when her children need her they actually find their way home?"

"I thought of going nowhere else."

"And that makes my heart sing," she says, kissing my cheek. "I love you, son. That is something you'll never lose."

"Even if, one day, I decide to blow up a building?"

"Even then."

"Wow. You accept the fact that I _could_ blow up a building. I should be worried."

"Why? You almost blew up the house when you were a kid. A building can't be that far away. Never should've gotten you that chemistry set."

I laugh and hug her again. "Thanks, mom."

"Always." Letting me go, she wipes the lipstick from my cheek and smiles. "So, I ask again. What are you planning on doing today?"

I shrug. "Conway told me to stay home and nurse my hand. So, I think I'll take Hank to the beach for a long walk."

"No driving," she reminds me. "Those new painkillers knocked you out."

That's true. I barely remember yesterday afternoon. "Then I'll sit out on the porch or in the den and respond to those letters, sort out my calendar and think on what I want to write for Ranger Rick. They gave me carte blanche. Anything but think on whether Sara will write back or not."

She rubs my arms. "You are such a worrywart." I shrug. "Hey, I've got it. Why don't you take a nap."

"But I just got up."

"It'll save time."

"How so?"

"Well, if you stretch out on the couch to 'work' on your article, you'll be asleep in ten minutes. So, to save time, why don't you just start out by taking nap."

"That's logical."

"Of course. Who do you think you got it from?" she grins.

"I could take a nap," I announce and she giggles as she heads for the door.

"I'm off shopping with Paul. He needs to find something for Emma. It's her birthday next week and he's in a quandary."

"Be careful."

"I will. And don't get that cast wet. It's barely dry."

"Yes, Mom," I say watching her leave. Insistent mewling draws my attention back to the kids. "I haven't forgotten you," I say scooping them up against my chest, a yawn overcoming me. "Nap first, work later." _(mew, mew, mew)_. "It was mom's idea."

A quick thought of the Email that's probably already made its way to Nevada and, hopefully, not being erased by a certain someone, barely has time to leave footprints in my head before I'm stretched out with two balls of fur on my chest and Hank nudging his nose under my hand. I feel comforted and warm and loved . . . and tired as I slide into sleep thinking I'd really like to go fishing tomorrow.

* * *

_Okay, then. What did you think? I hope you liked it because there's more coming. _

_And please note that these next Parts (23-25) will be Sara-lite (at least that 's what I figure based on my current synopsis). She'll make a roaring comeback in Act 3 - Resolution if I can figure out how to write it. (I will need your help as we move toward reconciliation. Don't have much experience on resurrecting a broken relationship. I accept any and all stories, comments, ideas and wishes on how to get these 2 lovebirds back together in a realistic way. I have major story points already set in place - like the ending - but it's all of those important moments in between that I'll need.)_

_So, I thank everyone ahead of time for reading and reviewing and hope to have the next part up by the end of February barring any unforeseen alien abductions and the like. Cheerio! :-D  
_


	23. Chapter 23

_Thank you to Moonstarer, TessTrueHeart (great suggestions - more please), My Kate, NickyStokes, RollWithIt, sgrfan, gsrfan34, Night Owl 33, was spratlurid quimby, Otie 1983 and Nancy1 (I love how you love this story!)_

_A word of explanation starts Part 23. This is not what I planned and I blame it all on the characters . . . well, Sara, actually. I believe she became upset when I stated that Parts 23-24-25 would be Sara-lite because she took over my pen and inserted herself into this piece. That means that everything I'd planned has been pushed back one part. _

_But, with all that said, I really like it and hope you do as well._

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 23**

**Brass**

"It took you long enough to call," I say into the phone knowing Sara is open mouthed on the other end. However, I did expect her to answer . . . sometime. "Sara? Sara, is everything all right?" Now I'm concerned. Oh, shit. What if Gil's message wasn't what I thought it was. "Sara?"

"He-he said hi."

Okay, I know Gil isn't the most verbose person on the planet but I can't believe that's all he said.

"Well, that's good," I say working my brain on how to make this work for her. Hi is happy. Hi is relaxed. Hi is , , , familiar. Yeah, that's the one. "Anything else?"

"What?"

"Did he say anything else?"

"No . . . I mean, yeah. He said 'Hi. I hope you're well.'"

"And that's all he said?"

"Yeah. What do you think it means?" she asks and I can't help but laugh.

"I think it means 'Hi, I hope you're well'."

"Jim," she whines and I rub my forehead.

"Sara, you've known him longer than I have. What do you think it means?"

"But you're his best friend. You know him better than I do?"

I laugh again. "Okay, then that's why I'm telling you it means he hopes you're well. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Soooooo, how do I answer that without seeming like I'm some love struck whiner who can't wait for him to get home so that I can make sure he knows how sorry I am and how much I love him and how I want to erase everything that's happened and start again. How do I do that? How?"

"First you take a breath, stop pacing and sit down." I hear her take said breath and hope she's sitting. I do the same. "It's a start, Sara. This is big for him. You and I both know that. It's a huge step and probably took a lot out of him. I'm betting he stared at that computer screen for hours, erasing and rewriting before he finally managed to send it. Right now he's waiting and wondering _if_ you will reply. Not what you say but _if_ you say anything. I bet you could write 'Hi back' and he'd be satisfied."

"I have to say more than that but I don't want to scare him off. I can't tell him things are good when they're not; had fun when I haven't. Longing fills me each and every day that I find it hard to breathe. All that would give me is a big fat zero."

"How about you're my hunka, hunka burnin' love."

"Jim!"

I'm laughing again. "Okay, okay. It may be too early for that. I know. I've got it. Ready?"

"I guess."

"Hi back. I'm doing okay. I hope you're feeling better." Silence met me and I madly toss a bunch of words around my head trying for something else.

"I like it," she finally says and I lean back in.

"Then send it, Sara."

"I . . ." Her voice trails off.

"He's reaching out to you as best he can. We both know him. We both know that he thinks things to death. Those five words probably sent him into a tizzy. Anything besides 'take a hike, bub' will be gold." There's that silence again, but this time I wait.

"I'm smiling in case you're wondering," she finally tells me and I grin.

"I was." She giggles then and I feel much better. "Now, get thee to your computer and let him know you're still here."

"I will."

"And don't be surprised if it takes him a while to respond. The thinking thing again."

"I know," she says with a sigh. "When should I start to worry?"

"I would give him 48 hours before you even consider jumping in your car and driving to California. But check with me first. Remember I have a pipeline."

"Yeah. Thanks, Jim. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd be living a much more boring life I'm sure."

She giggles again. "Okay, I can do this. I will do this. I owe you one, Jim."

"Yes you do. But I'll wait to collect."

"That's a deal."

"Now, go type. I'm going grocery shopping."

"See you later."

I hang up and stare at the phone for a bit pondering what will become of these missives flying back and forth. Will it engage further conversation, perhaps face-to-face at some point and then right back on track to where they were before all of this started? It's always been difficult for me to restart something that was broken and I'm much less complex than those two. But a cracked heart is hard to mend because once it's broken, the 'what ifs' and 'it could happen again' slips in and is a bitch to get rid of.

Ah, well, I can't worry about such things this early in the game. Besides, I have to send off an Email to Annie. She'll tell me what the field looks like on her end. Maybe, between the two of us, we can maneuver them onto the same track then let them loose to find their own way.

Well, I can hope.

**Sara **

"Hi, back. I'm doing okay. Hope you're feeling better," I say aloud as I type then stare at the screen. "It sounds like . . . crap!"

I quickly erase it.

Now I'm staring at a blank page. Yes, page. I decided to work this out in Word and not in Email because, just my luck, I'd accidentally push send when I've spilled my guts and who wants to read that!

I type it again. 'Hi, back. I'm doing okay. Hope you're feeling better.'

It sounds better if I don't say it out loud.

I know he's feeling better (Annie keeps us in the loop) but I can't say that. I can't say anything that would give it away that he's got an informant in the house. He would not be pleased and where would Jim and I be then? Out in the cold, ostracized by the 'grand Grissom quiet'. We've both experienced that before and it's not pleasant.

I erase it again and drop my chin into my palm.

"Why is this so difficult?"

Because it's like starting from scratch, pushing back the clock to those first tentative stabs at getting to know each other beyond work, stepping on each other's toes and taking every word said as gospel. I don't want to go back to thinking out everything before I say it so I don't accidentally hurt his feelings with some off the cuff remark . . . But I have to. I have to because I'm the one that pushed back that clock, made him lose faith in me.

I type again. 'Hi back. I'm doing okay. Hope you're feeling better.'

Now I drop my whole head into my hands.

"Hunka, hunka, burnin' love is sounding better and better," I muse before pushing myself away from the desk to pace, chewing my thumbnail while I'm at it. I stop that and head toward the bedroom thinking I should change the sheets. The next thing I know I'm sitting on the side of the bed, not a sheet in hand, staring at the amethyst quartz crystal unicorn sitting on the nightstand.

Carefully I pick it up pushing back the more recent memory of why it's here and not at Gil's and, instead, remember the day we stopped at the Holdredge Collectible's Shoppe on our way back from that first visit with Annie. I was on Cloud 9, so very thankful she liked me and he couldn't stop smiling. I love it when he's happy. His smile lights up his eyes and makes them bluer still. I want to see that again.

We'd been stopping at all the collectible and antiquey places, buying a few small trinkets here and there, and this place was truly wonderful. The building actually leaned and every inch of space was cram-packed with stuff. We spent a good two hours inside looking at everything. We even found an old Fedora that I thought would fit Greg to a tee. Finally pulling ourselves away, we tumbled into the car with our treasures, laughing at some obscure pun he threw my way when I caught him watching me click my seatbelt.

"What?"

"I have something for you," he answered.

"Is it something to eat?" I asked and he chuckled.

"I think you have a tapeworm, my dear," he said. "You had that big sandwich right before we got here, what two, two and a half hours ago?"

"Shopping makes me hungry," I explained.

"Everything makes you hungry."

"I'm hungry for you."

His eyes widened. "Well that's different then. Didn't we pass a motel on the way here?" he asked peering out the window as I leaned as close as my locked seat belt would allow.

"The car isn't good enough for you?" I asked as he settled back in his seat.

"I don't really want to spend the night in the hoosegow do you?"

Unlocking my belt, I leaned closer to him. "Depends on if we share a cell."

"You vixen," he said pretending to be horrified by such a suggestion right before I nearly sucked out his tonsils. Gasping for breath, he leaned back. "I may have to rethink the car idea. A motel seems too far away and jail can't be that bad."

"Now who's the vixen?" I asked as he grinned.

"Do you want your present or not?"

"I want, I want," I said holding out my hands into which he deposited a small wooden box.

"What is it?"

He shook his head. "Why do people always ask that?"

"I'm opening it," I informed him managing to slide off the top, reaching in and pulling out a tissue wrapped item. Slowly, I unwrapped the object inside and sucked in a breath as an amethyst quartz crystal unicorn fell into my palm. It was beautiful and delicate and graceful, all the things I'm not. I instantly loved it.

"I see _you_ in that," he began and I looked up into those wonderful eyes. "Not the color or the quartz," he added with a shake of his head. "But the unicorn. It's beautiful, delicate and graceful creature and all of those things are you."

He'd read my mind. It was my turn to shake my head. "But I'm not."

"You are to me," he said then took my hand. "You reflect all that is embodied in a unicorn. You are fierce yet good; you have great strength and endurance; you persevere when others would fail; you are selfless yet solitary, a wild untamable creature of hope, love, grace and an unconquerable nature. _That_ is what I see in you, Sara, and that is why I've always been drawn to you, now more than ever."

"Why now?" I dared to ask, tears welling in my eyes.

His hand moved gently along my cheek. "Because you are now mine and I can dare to hope that you always will be."

I hugged him, hugged him so hard I think he had a hard time breathing. I had a bruise on my leg for weeks after bashing into the stick making my leap but each time I saw it, it reminded me of how he looked when he said those words and how those words made me feel. And now I hold what he loved most about me and I want to see that look in his eyes again directed at me. I want him to dare to hope that what we had can be again.

Carefully, I place the unicorn back on my nightstand and head out to my laptop to fire up my Email. I begin to type.

**Grissom**

_I'm sitting on the beach staring out at the water. Birds fly overhead, kittens lounge in my lap and Hank races in and out of the surf. It is heaven. A shadow falls over me and I don't have to look to know who it is. _

_"Hi," I say as Sara sits next to me._

_"Hi yourself," she softly answers._

_I gather up the kittens and hand them to her. "I'm thinking of calling them Calvin and Hobbes." I say as she holds them up to her face._

_ "Did you save them?" she asks and I nod. "You did a good thing."_

_ "I don't like to watch life expire because nobody cares," I say picking up the wet ball Hank's dropped at my feet and tossing it back into the water, sputtering at the sand flying in my face as he takes off._

_ "'You know, sometimes the world seems like a mean place'."_

_ I glance at her seeing a bit of a smirk there. She's quoting Calvin and Hobbes. Well, I can do that, too._

_ "'Some days even my lucky rocketship underpants won't help'."_

_ She giggles. "'In my opinion we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks'."_

_ "'I'm learning real skills that I can apply throughout the rest of my life . . . procrastinating and rationalizing'."_

_ She laughs out loud at that and I smile. Hearing that sound again makes me tingle and I find I really want to run my hand through her wind tossed hair but hold back. _

_ "'We're so busy watching out for what's just ahead of us that we don't take the time to enjoy where we are'," I say looking away as she turns toward me._

_ "'I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each others dreams, we can be together all the time'." _

_ I look back at her and am mesmerized by what I see. It's as if no time has passed, no incident in the store, no cross words have taken place and we're back where we started, finding each other anew. I reach out then and let myself touch her hair and she leans her head against my hand._

_ "'Things are never quite as scary when you've got a best friend'," I say leaning toward her, our lips ready to meet . . . _

BARK! BARK! BARK!

I bolt up from the couch and toss the kids to my lap which doesn't earn me any gold stars.

"I'm sorry," I sputter trying to get my bearings, recognizing the incessant noisiness of their hairy brother. "Blame it on Hank," I say, slowly rising from the couch and leaving them behind.

Rolling my shoulders, I stagger out of the den and into the kitchen to see him standing on his hind legs so he can look out the window, his barks reduced to chuffs and low growls steaming up the glass.

"What are you going on about?" I ask as I peer over his shoulder to see nothing out of the ordinary. Hank looks back at me and whines. Shrugging, I open the door then the screen door, barely getting out of the way of him barreling through. "When you gotta go, you gotta go," I mumble, yawning and stretching as I decide to sit out on the porch and enjoy the sunshine, a smile crossing my face as I think on my dream, a much better dream than last time.

Can it be that easy? Sharing a few Calvin and Hobbes quotes, running my hand through her hair, kissing her? Kissing her?

The sound of Hank yelping drags me from my thoughts and I open my eyes watching him bounce around the base of the tree, start as if something's hit him, then run back. Narrowing my gaze, I can see a squirrel moving from branch to branch, stopping and . . . He's throwing something. Hank yelps again, runs away then darts right back in. It's all rather funny and I can't help but laugh as Hank is beaned again.

"Give it up, Hank. He's got the high ground," I try but he refuses to listen so I leave him alone. Let him have his fun and I'll have mine just watching him.

**Annie **

I see Gil followed my advice and took a nap. Now where could he be? He needs to rest. I know his hand is painful and he doesn't like taking those pills but he needs to rest. These last two weeks have been exhausting for him which is interesting since I know he's pulled double and triple shifts before without complaint, normally because he zones in on something and can't let it go.

My Daniel was like that, too. Single minded when something caught his fancy and I didn't dare drag him away because, God forbid, I broke his concentration just when he was on the edge of an answer. Learned that quickly enough right when we began dating. His response to me made me rethink our continued association and I didn't speak to him for a week but then realized that I couldn't live without him and so did he. Our awkward yet sweet meeting was happenstance or so I thought, only finding out later that he'd been waiting for me and just 'happened to be at the right place at the right time'. Didn't matter. What mattered was that he cared enough to make the effort and so did I.

That's all Gil has to do here is make the effort. I know Sara will respond. I've never seen a woman so in love with a man unless, of course, I was looking in a mirror. And I know Gil loves Sara with all his heart and soul. If these two don't work out, I believe he'll never try again. I've already decided that I shall interfere if things go south. I won't stand on the sidelines. In fact, I'll get Jim to help 'cause I'm going to need back up if this all goes to . . . .

"Oh, my," I say aloud as I sit in front of my computer, eyes riveted to Gil's open Email and, right on top, is . . . it's . . . "GIL!"

**Grissom **

Hank barrels after the ball I throw and catches it in mid-air. He seems rather pleased with himself as he heads back to me, bouncing on his feet.

"Good boy," I praise and toss the ball again but this time I don't see his catch since I'm spinning around at the frantic call of my name. Mom is rocketing through the screen door, hands flying. Hurrying toward her I can't make out what she's saying and grasp her hands to still them. "Slow down," I urge.

"It's Sara."

My heart sinks. "What's happened? Is she all right?" I anxiously ask.

She nods. "Email. She sent you an Email."

Then a smile comes to her face and I freeze. God, she answered. She answered back. What do I do now?

"Come on," she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me up the porch steps. I clutch the railing to stop our forward momentum causing her to jerk to a stop. "What?"

"Do . . . do you know what it says?" I haltingly ask.

"No. It's your Email. I wouldn't read it."

"Would you?"

"Gil . . ."

"What if it's . . . What if she's saying goodbye?" I ask.

It doesn't matter that I feel like I'm nine years old again asking mom if dad knows I miss him. It doesn't matter that I'm nearly 50 and am too scared to open an Email that might break my slowly mending heart into too many pieces to be repaired. I just need someone to tell me it's going to be all right even if it's not.

Mom takes my face in her hands and kisses my forehead then smiles at me. "Would you believe me if I said that that's not what the Email says because if she was giving you the boot it would've taken a hell of a lot longer to send you this Email. It's only been a little over two hours since you sent yours."

That sounds reasonable.

"Okay," I say letting her finish dragging me up the steps and into the house, plunking me in front of the laptop, Hank following, wondering what his master is up to now.

"Don't be afraid," she tells me.

"I . . . This is different."

"How so?"

"It's my life or what will become my life."

"Don't be afraid of a new life, Gil. It might be better than the old one but you'll never know until you open that Email. Send Hank if you need anything," she says and hurries out before I can stop her.

I'm left with me, Hank, the kids (who've now forgiven me and jumped up on the desk) all staring at the Email sitting there waiting. Now that I'm here I'm wondering if I accepted mom's reasoning too quickly. But, then, I must remember that I know Sara. She often blurts stuff out unintentionally when she's mad and over talks when she's nervous. But when it comes to something serious, bad serious, it takes her a long while to put into words what she really wants to say. So I feel sort of like Goldilocks - if she was mad or nervous I would've gotten an Email within 10 minutes of my send; if this was bad I'd still be waiting two days from now; but the timeframe associated with this response is, well, just right.

"Just right," I murmur and dangle my finger over the touchpad. "What do you say, guys?" I ask the gathered. _ (Mew, mew, chuff)_ I nod. "All right then. To a new life."

I take a deep breath and drop my finger.

* * *

_The amethyst quartz unicorn was mentioned early on as an item that made Sara think of Grissom. (I will admit I called it a purple quartz crystal.)  
_

_In the beginning, when I stated that the characters took over, it's true. I've had this happen before and it's totally cool when they decide what you're going to do with them and for them. It's always wise to just let them do what they want. Sometimes it's gold._

_Back on track for Part 24 (I hope). I'm looking at mid-March to post but I will work on getting it up earlier. Thanks for reading and reviewing. :-D_


	24. Chapter 24

_Howdy! Sorry about the wait but this one just would not gel at the end since I came up with something for Part 25 that needed to be noted here along with a major plot point that needed to actually follow some kind of logic. I had to work and work and take a number of showers (I think best in the bathroom - don't ask me why) until it finally became clear. This is VERY long but I had to get all the stuff in in order to move along to Part 25 which is the end of Act 2. We've got 2 new characters here that may make another appearance and Grissom making headway (some at least). I hope you enjoy it._

_I also want to thank the usual suspects for their reviews: MyKate, Otie1983, was spratlurid quimby, Severn Sound, and Nancy1. And some newbies: sgrfan, jafox and allyescarff. I also want to thank Tess True Heart /MyKate/Nancy1 for their suggestions. Act 3 is unknown territory for me and I'll need all the help I can get.  
_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 24**

**Grissom**

_ 'Hi. It's very nice to hear from you. I'm doing okay. How are you?'_

It's very nice to hear from me.

She wrote back. She wrote back and it wasn't bad.

It's . . . promising.

I wonder how many times she erased it and started again. Or maybe that was just me.

I find my fingers on the keys. _'I'm doing much better.'_

And I am even though I only have one usable finger left on my right hand and can feel the pain slowly making its way around the nearly gone painkiller. I really don't want to take another pill right now. I just got up . . . again.

I should add more. Let her know what's happened, what's been happening. Let her know that I seem to be 'rounding the bend' so to speak, looking at the homestretch as opposed to staying in the backstretch where I've been hiding these past many weeks. (Looking, mind you, not actually _on_ the homestretch.)

I can't tell her that? Can I? Dare I?

Not yet.

I stare at what I managed to type – _I'm doing much better._

"Is that enough?" I ask the air not actually expecting an answer from the peanut gallery but it comes anyway (_mew, mew)._ I look at them. "You think that my less than 10 word Emails are okay?" _(Mew, mew, mew - chuff)_ Ah, Hank chimed in then. "Okay then."

My finger hovers over the send key and I'm going in for the press when I jump a foot at the insistent ringing of my cell phone. Mom's right. I am jumpy.

"Grissom."

"Gil, how's the hand?" comes Conway's voice and I can't help but smirk at the enthusiasm coming my way.

"It hurts."

"Well, it should be a good hurt. You did good, my friend."

"I just reacted."

"And that's all that matters. Just know that no charges will be filed since no one saw anything." My eyes widen. I hadn't thought of that. "It's okay, Gil. Consultant or not, we all stick together."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And _I_ thank _you_ for what _you_ did."

"It was a team effort."

"Not the last part. That was all you." I give him a slight laugh. "And that leads to something I need you to do."

"I'm not moving back to L.A., Conway."

"Now why would you assume that that is my intention?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Fine. I'll let you in on a little secret. I've enlisted Annie's help on that front. So expect hints and suggestions and tell-tale signs of my influence on that lovely lady."

"You know I'll spot it a mile away."

"I know. That's what makes it fun." He laughs and I just shake my head. "I'm calling for a different reason, Gil. I know I asked you to take the day but I need you to come in."

"Why?"

"Well, the DA's informed me that April Remington's case is airtight along with Ally Corrs and they've already got an arraignment scheduled. We can bring other charges later after the team has had a chance to clear the evidence. Because of that the Sheriff is having a press conference and . . ."

"No," is all I say hearing him sigh.

"Gil."

"Your team found the evidence, Conway. They deserve the credit."

"Gil, without your eyes and Sara's notes, who knows how long it would've taken. He wants to thank Vegas CSI along with us."

"He can thank me in person when I next see him," I argue.

"Gil . . ."

"It isn't my place to stand with the Sheriff. Peter should be up there. He found the evidence. Or Officer Vanner who arrested him."

"Oh, they'll all be there, believe me. But the Sheriff wants you as well."

"Well, he can't have me."

"Is that your final answer?" he asks.

I purse my lips and my hand tightens on the phone because something is about to fall out of his mouth that I won't be able to refuse. For the life of me I can't even begin to think what it could be.

"Simon wants you there." Christ. "He expressed himself very clearly when I spoke to the family an hour ago." Jesus Christ. "Gil?"

"What time?" I ask rubbing my face.

"5pm. The Sheriff wants to make the evening news."

At least he doesn't sound pleased even though I know he'll probably high five himself once I hang up which is about to happen. "I'll be there," I say and turn off the phone. Turn it clean off. Now, if he has the urge to call and gloat, I won't even know.

Dropping my head (carefully this time) into my hands, I debate whether I should whine about my inability to say no sometimes or contemplate ways to make Conway's life miserable. Dropping fire ants in his office might just do the trick but then he'd just stomp on them and I'd be upset, yadda-yadda.

"Grrrrrrr," comes out of me as I sit back, clunking my cast against the table which puts my teeth on edge and makes the kids jump. "Sorry."

I glare at it . . . my cast. I can't really remember when I haven't had the thing on my hand. Okay, I'm being dramatic. Of course I remember. I just don't want to remember so I don't.

"Shit," I groan and close my eyes. _'One day it'll come off' _crowds into my head and I relax a bit.

Simon.

Who knew a boy of six and a half (he was very precise when we traded ages a day or so ago) would capture me so quickly after only an hour together. Maybe it's not so farfetched. I like to think I'm not very good with kids and yet they do seem to gravitate toward me when I'm not looking. Perhaps it's because I don't treat them like idiots. They are, sometimes, smarter than the adults around them. Might as well admit it when you can.

My initial meeting of Simon started with me standing in the doorway of Captain Carmine C. Polza's office, waiting patiently for him to finish a rather boisterous call with, I assumed, a subordinate who'd done something extraordinarily stupid. I was about to turn tail and run when he slammed down the phone, cursed like a sailor and rolled his shoulders. I felt the side of my mouth perk up in recognition – he looked a lot like Jim did after doing the same thing: annoyed, irate and extremely satisfied with himself. That all fell away in a heartbeat once he glanced my way and rose quickly to his feet, a pleasant grin taking over his grizzled face.

"Dr. Grissom, I presume," he said holding out a hand as he approached. I swiftly took it only because I didn't have much choice.

"Just Grissom," I stated and he nodded.

"People call me Cap, Carmine, CC, Polz or son-of-a-bitch. I don't hanker much for that last one."

"I can see why."

"Then we'll get along famously." He smiled then and let go of my hand and I found myself instantly liking this man. "What can I do for you?" he amiably asked no trace of the towering menace in sight.

"I was wondering if, when you had the time, we could go visit the Remington scene? I need to put into perspective the crime scene photos with the actual site."

"Well, let's go then," he answered walking back to his desk, to grab his cell and keys.

"Now?"

"Traffic seizes up in about an hour. Now would be a good time."

"Don't we have to call ahead?" I called after him as he moved out of his office and into the hall. "Let them know we're coming?" I had to hurry to keep up.

"Already cleared," was all he said as I ducked into my little office space, grabbed my makeshift kit and trailed after him, noting a distinctive gait not much different than my own.

"I never let the fact that I was bow-legged stop me from doing anything," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me. I'd been caught and looked away. "In fact it helped on the football field. Guys would just slip between my legs as I ran for a touchdown."

He didn't seem offended by the chuckle I couldn't stop. "I, ah, never let it stop me either."

"So, you played football, too?" he asked and I shook my head.

"No. But it helped when the school bully tried to jump me. They thought I couldn't run with my legs bowed out. I almost always got away."

"Almost?"

"Running doesn't really matter when they drop a bucket filled with rocks on your head. I was in the hospital for two days."

"Crap. That's harsh."

"Yeah." I didn't know why I was telling him all this. I guess it was the good Jim Brass impersonation he was doing that suckered me in.

"Ever see the guys that did it after school was over?"

"Actually I ran into them a few years back while consulting on a case in Long Beach. They were parking cars and didn't recognize me. Don't know what I would've done if they had."

"Run them over with your car."

"That thought crossed my mind."

"Well, that's what happens with bullies. They get their comeuppance while you succeed."

"Yeah," was all I said as we emerged into the bright sunlight, squinting until I could find my shades.

"It's the grey sedan over there," Carmine pointed and I found myself trailing after him again.

Slipping inside and immediately rolling down the windows to let out the built up heat, we moved off onto the street, silence filling the car for a few miles while I thought of all the bullies who'd come after me when I was a kid just because I was a science geek or nerds as we were called back then. All I ever wanted was to fit in, be friends with people. Succeed. And I did succeed and felt good about myself until that last night with Sara when it all stopped.

"It'll come, you know, when you need it," Carmine informed me as we made a turn.

Thoughts interrupted, I faced him. "I'm sorry?" I asked as he gestured at some driver who'd cut him off.

"Your mojo," he continued glancing over at me then back to the road. "Your power over circumstance." I didn't really know what to say so remained quiet. "There will come a time when everything will fall into place and you can pick up where you left off. I know from experience as do a number of my guys."

He was right about that. I _had_ been approached by half a dozen cops to let me know that what I'd gone through wasn't far from where they'd been once in their life. And they were still here, still here and fighting back to make sure their lives continued in their own way and not how someone else viewed them. They wanted me to know that. They wanted to make sure I got that I _was_ in control of my life even if, at the moment, it didn't seem so.

We drove a bit further in silence and I chewed on my thumb. "How long did it take?" I quietly asked not looking at him.

"About a year," he answered watching the traffic speed past before turning onto another street.

"A year," I sighed suddenly thinking my feelings of goodwill were obviously overrated.

"Oh, don't let that bother you. Everyone's different. It took me a year to stop second guessing myself and forge ahead like I always do. I'm a stubborn cuss; tried to push on like nothing happened and it kicked me in the ass. If I'd opened up, talked to someone sooner, it probably would've taken half the time. You got anyone to talk to?" he asked, glancing fleetingly at me.

Mom's face immediately came to mind followed by the Fab Four, Hank, the kids and Jim, so I nodded, trying not to think on how Sara's face didn't appear.

"You do know you actually _have_ to talk to them for it to do any good?" he asked as I tried not to look uncomfortable, amazed that in the short space of time since we'd met, he could read me like a book. I used to be more enigmatic than that.

"I do."

"Good. It doesn't do to lock yourself away when something like this happens no matter if you want to or not. If they grab you around the neck and drag you off, go with them. If they know you, they'll give you some space before they rip you a new one. If they don't, they'll hit you with all the mumbo-jumbo of the psychiatric kind which I'm not pooh-poohing, it's just not a good fit for me."

"I don't like telling my life story to strangers," I admitted even though I'd been pretty free with information to the Fab Four.

"Me either," he said. "It gives me the heebie-jeebies when they look at you with such calm and you know they haven't a clue what you went through, what you _really_ went through and all they're going to tell you is 'it'll get better now take some pills and spill your guts'."

I grinned then. I'd still have to face that myself if I decided to take up my old job. Probably have to do it if I wanted to consult since Ecklie was in charge. Hopefully, by the time I came to any sort of conclusion about my life I'd be significantly on my way to 'better' or, at least, more 'better' than now and maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't bother me so much. Right.

"I'd much prefer to talk to my dog but there isn't a place on the form for that," Carmine continued. "So I talked to my bartender, who now happens to be my girl, and I was amazed at how much better I felt, especially after she cuffed me upside the head for waiting so long. She comes from a long line of cops. I should've gone to her sooner."

Signaling once more, he turned into a cul-de-sac then pulled up along the curb in front of a ranch style house at the end. I stared at the house for a moment thinking they always look so serene despite such awfulness inside.

"It's still there - your mojo, I'm mean," Carmine continued. "It's just hiding for a bit to take a rest. Once you get back into the swing of things you'll have a better perspective. It won't seem as world ending as you thought and things that bothered you before won't even register. I know because I've looked into the business end of a gun and wondered what the hell I was doing. And, to answer your question, it was my own gun looking back at me."

With that said, that bomb from left field, he got out of the car. I found my own reactions slowed but finally got out myself, remembering at the last minute to grab my kit. Hefting it up, I looked at Carmine as he waited for me.

"How-how did you get over it?"

"You have to figure out what you want out of life. Do you want to end everything and possibly miss out on something great? Or do you want to slog through the shit to get to the other side because maybe, just maybe, what's waiting for you will be better than what you presume you lost." He patted me on the arm and started up the walk. "You're already overcoming it," he threw at me over his shoulder.

"How do you figure that?" I called after him, quickly following.

He stopped, waiting for me to catch up, and smiled. "Because you're here and don't have your head stuck in an oven."

With that said he continued up to the porch and knocked on the front door of the Remington house. I'd been coming to the same conclusion, ever so slowly, but sometimes you had to hear it from someone not family or close friend for it to penetrate.

"Grissom!" he called and I looked up to see that the door had opened, a thin woman standing on the other side. Hurrying to stand next to him, Clara Remington let us inside. "Mrs. Remington, this is Dr. Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas Police Department," Carmine introduced. "He's here to help us on your daughter's case."

"It's a pleasure," she said, her voice soft and light.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Remington," I said as she nodded then led us into the living room.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No," we both answered not wanting to make this woman wait on us.

She turned to me. "What can I help you with?"

"If it's not too much trouble I'd like to see April's room."

"Of course," she said and started off toward a hallway, Carmine and I discreetly following. "I don't know what you'll find. We've . . . cleaned it up since . . . I just don't know what you'll find."

"I need some context. Did you put everything back the way it was?"

She nodded. I could see her chin tremble and my heart went out to this woman. "We were getting ready for her 17th birthday," she began. "I . . . I'd sent away to New York for the make-up kit she wanted. She wanted to work in Hollywood; be the next Ve Neill. We were away from the house . . ." She stopped, gathered herself and looked straight at me. "Do you know who did this?"

I didn't want to lie. "I do."

"Do you think you'll find him?"

That is the worst question anyone can ask a policeman, a CSI. Yes sat on my tongue but we lost him in Vegas. What if we lose him here? "I want to say we will," I heard myself saying. "I do know that I will do everything I can to make sure he's brought to justice."

"And you have a good track record?"

I raised my head a bit. "I do."

She gave a terse nod and I watched her lay a shaky hand on the last door in the hall then quietly opened it. She didn't go inside. "Do you need me for anything?" she asked. I could see the brightness in her eyes even in the subdued light of the hallway.

I shook my head. "No, thank you."

She nodded and headed back down the hall, the both of us watching her leave.

"She's a strong woman," Carmine quietly remarked.

All I could do was try to push my emotions to the back of my brain as I took a look at the room. Obviously, it was a girl's room – all pinks and frilly things everywhere. April Remington was just starting out when her world ended. Much too young. I let out a long breath and set down my kit, turning to look at Carmine as his phone rang.

"I'm going to be awhile," I told him. He nodded and took the call, stepping out of the room and disappearing from sight.

My attention returned to the room, camera now in hand, intent on duplicating the crime scene photos to see as close to 'before' as I could. Everything was neat and clean; everything broken mended. Her bed once again on all fours moved from its canted position; the canopy that had been ripped off was reattached and the vanity strewn with smashed makeup was clean and white. It had been a fight. April had left her mark on Roberts but it hadn't been enough. Such a waste.

"Are you here to help my sister?" came a small voice from behind me.

Startled out of my thoughts, I turned to see a small boy standing in the doorway. "I am," was my answer. It seemed that was his cue to enter.

He held out a hand to me. "I'm Simon."

I gave him a bit of a smile as I took his hand in my left. "I'm Grissom."

"Purple's a good color," he said peering at my cast. "Rilly says it gives you peace of mind. I don't really know what that means."

"Me either," I answered as he let go.

"What did you do?" he asked.

I faltered a bit then decided to be honest. "I punched a wall."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I got mad."

"I throw things when I'm mad. Mom doesn't like it when I do that."

"My mom wasn't too happy with me either."

"I guess we shouldn't do those things then, huh?"

"No, I guess not."

"When do you get it off?"

"I don't know. Seems like I've had it forever," I confessed with a sigh.

"One day it'll come off then your skin'll be all white and yucky. Happened when I broke my foot," he explained.

"How'd you break your foot?"

"Kicked a rock."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"Mom get mad?"

"Nope. Just made her have a worried face."

"Yeah. Mom's do that."

He pointed at my camera as he crawled up on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Taking pictures so I can see what your sister was like."

"I can tell you if you want."

Smiling, I sat next to him. "I'd like that."

He grinned back. "Rilly liked pink."

"I can tell," I said looking about the room and its various shades of the color.

"She liked yellow, too. Said it reminded her of me 'cause I'm always smiling." That, of course, made me smile. "She loved make-up, like movie make-up. She won an award at school when we did the Wizard of Oz."

"Were you in it?"

"No, but I got to help. She was always nice like that."

"What else about Rilly?" The smile slowly faded and his chin started to shake. "It's okay if you don't want to go on."

"It's-it's okay. I forget sometimes she's not here anymore. Rilly was my friend."

God, help me, I nearly lost it, having to clench my jaw to keep myself in check at that unadulterated statement of love in so few words. I reached for his hand and his fingers clutched mine.

"She didn't get mad when mom made her babysit me. We had fun, played games. She taught me about butterflies and frogs and let me braid her hair and cover her in mud when it rained and bury her in sand at the beach. She'd tickle me and smile when I laughed and let me tag along without minding. She was a really great sister and I . . . I miss her. I really miss her."

"I'm sorry, Simon," was all I could think to say. He simply looked down at his hands.

"I should've been here for her," he quietly added. "Maybe I could've helped her."

That would not have been good for the Remingtons . . . Or Simon.

"I'm sure Rilly was glad you weren't here." His head snapped up at that. "You might've been hurt and, I think, after what you've told me about her that would've made her sad."

"I don't want her to be sad. I don't ever want that. I just want her to be here."

I could add nothing. When my father died all I wanted was him in the here and now even though I knew that would never happen. Nothing anyone could say made me feel better, but I had to try anyway.

"She will always be watching out for you, Simon, no matter where you are or where you go. Never forget that."

He shook his head. "I won't."

Letting go of his hand, I slipped off the bed to give the boy some space and started taking pictures. My photos covered the closet and walls, photos of different make-ups taped throughout the room. She was very good and, probably, would've been successful if life hadn't been so cruel.

"Rilly did those," came from Simon as he appeared beside me. "That's me," he pointed and I leaned in close.

"Is that the troll from Harry Potter?" I asked looking into his surprised face. "I've read all the books so far and seen all the movies."

"Me, too. Rilly helped me with some of the books. She was working on a drawing of Dobby for my Halloween costume." His smile quickly disappeared once that left his mouth and he dropped his head again before looking back up at me. "I guess . . . I guess mom can help now."

I wanted to fall into a heap and cry. "I'm sure she'd like that."

"Yeah."

I continued moving about the room, taking random shots as I circled the area, ending up back at the vanity to notice something that had escaped me earlier - a print attached to the mirror there.

"It's not a butterfly," Simon said. "I couldn't find a pink one."

"There aren't any. This is Phytometra rhodarialis. A pink-bordered yellow moth."

"How do you know that?" he asked his eyes wide with awe.

I smiled at him. "I study bugs, all kinds. I have a butterfly collection at home."

"Really?"

"Really. I even have a pet tarantula."

"Wow! Is his name Aragog?"

I smiled. "Alas, no. It's Arthur." I expected an odd look but he accepted it without comment.

"Can I meet him?"

"Well, he's not with me. But my dog, Hank, is. Would you like to meet him?"

"Yes, please," he answered with a big smile that touched my heart and made me chuckle.

"Then it's a date,"

Turning to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything, my camera strap knocked something off the vanity to the rug below. Kneeling, I picked up the small container of blusher, grateful the cover hadn't come off.

"That was hard to clean up," Simon said.

I glanced up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Before . . . after we could come back home, I helped mom and dad clean up. Rilly's powder was everywhere. Look, you have some on your pants."

Taking a quick look where he pointed, I saw that my knee was pink. If I tried to brush it off it would embed itself into the fabric. Into the fabric . . .

"Ah, Simon, could you get your mom for me? I need to ask her a question."

"Sure," he answered, running out of the room. I could hear him calling after her as he moved through the house.

Less than a minute later, Mrs. Remington appeared in the doorway, venturing no further. She seemed a bit flustered and her hand was wrapped tightly about Simon's.

"How can I help you?" she asked, tears in her eyes and voice.

I wanted to ask her if everything was all right when I realized what a stupid question that was so got on with business. "Ah, Simon told me that April's powder was all over the rug."

She swallowed. "It was. I don't know if we'll ever get it all out of the carpet."

I held up the blusher in my hand. "Was it the same brand as this?"

She frowned. "Yes. Why?"

"Would it be possible to borrow this? I promise to get it back to you."

"Of course."

"Thank you," I said taking out a bindle and dropping the blusher inside.

"Is it . . . something?" came her faltering question.

Placing the blusher in my kit, I looked up to see she'd stepped into the room, Simon's hand still clasped in hers.

"It could be," was all I said, not wanting to get her hopes up too high. "Simon's been a big help," I said smiling down at him.

She let go of his hand and wrapped her arm about his small shoulders. "Yes, he has."

"He knew that wasn't a butterfly," Simon informed her, pointing to the moth.

"He did?" I heard as I packed away my camera and grabbed my kit.

"Yeah. He'sgonnaletmeseehisdogandhe'sgottaspiderbuthisnameisn'tAragogit's Arthur."

She laughed and so did I at his exuberance. "Well, that sounds fine with me."

"Yeah," Simon said, smiling at me.

"I'm done here."

"Oh, okay," she said and ushered Simon out of the room. I followed after the two as we headed back to the living room.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Remington," I said.

"I just . . . Come back if you need to."

Giving her a bit of smile, I turned to Simon and held out my hand. He quickly grabbed it. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Simon."

"Don't forget about Hank."

I grinned. "I won't."

Ducking out the door, I caught Carmine's eyes just before he rounded the car and slid behind the wheel.

"Goodbye!" came at me from Simon. I waved as I got into the car.

"Find anything?" Carmine asked.

Glancing at my pant leg, I looked back up at him. "I think my mojo's coming back," I told him.

A slow smile spread across his face as he started the engine and we made our way back to LAPD. When we arrived, I handed the blusher over to Topher Bale in Trace then went looking for Peter with the news. It was a break, something we hadn't had in awhile. But my excitement slowly paled, however, as the day went on and nothing of significance came off the APB. Conway made me go home instead of watching me mope in my little office and told me to take the weekend - he'd call if anything came up. So I helped mom and Paul paint the kitchen, all the while trying to be upbeat that at least we had a small bit of evidence that could tie Roberts to April's murder. Then a little voice would ring in my head that evidence meant nothing if we couldn't find the clothes they _might_ be on.

But then we did.

And it wasn't the blusher that started the ball rolling. That was merely the clincher. It was something far more innocuous - a broken taillight. So it's true that sometimes something insignificant can be the catalyst for far bigger outcomes like Al Capone for tax evasion or how penicillin was accidentally discovered. True, catching Roberts may not be within the same realm to the world (or Chicago) but it was to me. And it was to the Remington's. And even when we had his clothes, and the blusher was definitely on them, I had to sit down a lot since I kept forgetting to breathe, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the evidence to fail, for Roberts to escape our clutches once again.

But he hadn't. Not this time.

I'll always remember the look on his face when he knew he'd been well and truly caught and it made me feel like I'd been let loose from a cage. And what a great feeling that was.

Soft fur presses against my swollen fingers and I blink myself back to the present to look into the kids' sweet faces. Something awakened in me the first time I heard them purr, the first time I knew they were out of danger, and I don't really want to lose that. The same feelings struck me when Simon sat on his sister's bed and told me she was his friend. Have I gone squishy all of a sudden or is it the simple idea that even _I_ have a soft spot for lost animals and sad children? I don't know. I do know I'd do anything for Simon and his parents, to make sure they get justice, just as I would for mom, Catherine, Jim . . . and Sara. Even after everything that's happened I know that, should she need me, I'd be there.

Carmine was right that coming through the other side of chaos can make you look at things differently; that the 'end is coming' mentality isn't exactly the harsh existence I laid claim to. I guess I am, after a fashion, coming to the end of a dark tunnel; feeling the same relief I feel when I make it through without the mountain collapsing on top of me. Things aren't so close, so crushing, especially now almost 33 hours after Roberts was arrested. The clothes were found stuffed in the back of his closet (he didn't even have the brains to burn them) along with 'mementos' of other attacks that we didn't even know about and something of Ally Corrs. Sara will be pleased.

Resting my chin on my good hand, eyes drift back to the computer and the words I've typed and a decision comes – I'll send it as is. Amazed at my haste (well, for me anyway) since I know I should be writing so much more, telling her everything about what's happened, I head for the send key and stop as _'maybe I shouldn't be so rash'_ arcs through my head.

"Or maybe I should just stare at it for another hour," I chastise myself pounding my fist on the table, making the kids jump again. "Sorry." _(mew, mew)_

To be impetuous, reckless, impulsive . . . All those words don't apply to me. Well, they didn't before the 'incident' where I did one foolish thing, one thing that'll leave scars no one will see but me. And, maybe Sara if we manage to overcome everything and start again. I rub my face and groan. God, it's all so awkward once more. I was so very glad to see that leave but now it's back, back and unwanted. Will I ever be able to speak so easily to her as before or will this be how we'll face each other for the rest of eternity?

"It shouldn't be the amount of words but the meaning behind them," I say to Hank who looks adoringly at me as I stroke his head. "If I add more I might screw it up, make her think I mean something when I don't or do . . . or whatever! Why do I have to think this way?" The kids back slightly away and Hank whines and I close my eyes. "Okay, I'm going to send it as is. I am."

My finger hovers. I take a breath. And then there's movement out of the corner of my eye and glancing up, I see mom coming through the doorway, a smile on her face. I feel relief in a strange sort of way.

"I was planning on sneaking up on you again just for kicks." I raise a brow at her and she laughs, her eyes moving toward the screen. "Is that a new one or . . ?

"Still the old one," I sign back grimacing at my obvious reluctance to be a maverick. She rubs my back just before dropping a JC Penney bag into my lap. "What's this?"

"A present," is all she says as I peer inside, pulling out a nice lightweight jacket.

Its fabric is soft and the color auburn; there's a faint design of lighter material running through it and it closely resembles the one Sara got me for my last birthday. (She was so excited I liked it I wore it everywhere.) And then my mind kicks in and I wonder why mom would be picking out clothes for me at this particular time. Conway's words rise in my memory and I shoot narrowed eyes at her.

"It's not Emma's birthday is it?"

She sends me a puzzled look but can't keep it up and smiles. "Actually, yes, and Paul got her something weeks ago. This is for you, for your successful conclusion to a difficult case."

I stare at her. It's the same stare I use on Greg and Hodges but, of course, it doesn't work here. I remind myself that I learned this particular stare from mom. Shaking my head, I smirk. "When do you want to leave?"

"For what?" she innocently says.

Innocent she's not. "The press conference."

"What? There's going to be a press conference?"

"Mom."

"Okay. I confess. Conway may have mentioned it."

"No kidding."

"I can't believe there's no flat refusal from you; no let someone else get all the glory." She grabbed my face and looked into my eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with my son?"

"Funny," I say, my miffed look quickly fading. "Simon wants me there."

"Oh," she says, laying a hand on my shoulder. "Are you taking Hank?"

"Yeah, I promised," I sign glancing over at my happy boy.

"You know they'll probably want to take you out to dinner afterwards."

"No, no I . . ."

"You _will_ go."

"I didn't do anything."

"You found the evidence that tied him to April. He's not getting away this time." I hold her gaze for a moment then look away. "You've done this family a great service, Gil, whether you think so or not. Let them thank you however they please. If it's dinner or a handshake, let them do it. It's what I would want if April had been my daughter."

I pull her hand from my shoulder and hold it tightly. "You take good care of me."

"It's what mothers do," she says, kissing the top of my head. "Now, go make yourself beautiful. The taxi leaves in an hour and a half."

"You don't have to . . ."

"You're not driving with that hand, Mister," she says pointing at my cast. "The doctor expressly said no to that until you can get through the day without any pain. Besides, I'll bring Hank home while you're out wining and dining. Call me and I'll come get you."

"I'll get a cab," I try to argue.

"I know you work nights in Vegas, honey, but this is L.A. The nightlife is different here. And, as usual, you're not carrying your gun." I never should've mentioned that to her. "Now I want you to eat a little something before we go so you don't keel over in front of the cameras and embarrass me."

I try not to grin. "Yes, ma'am."

"Respect. I like that," she says upon leaving the room.

I've been played and, for some reason, it doesn't bother me. Conway will have a field day with this and I'll let him. Turning back to the computer, my debate with myself about just sending it swiftly disappears when I hear mom's voice coming from down the hall.

"It'll still be there when you get back!"

Shaking my head, I turn off the computer. That woman's always been able to see through walls. "Come on, Hank," I say, grabbing my new jacket as I stand. "We've got a little boy to bring a smile to." _(Bark, bark)_

* * *

_Ve Neill is a makeup artist in Hollywood who has been nominated for 8 Academy Awards and won 3._

_JC Penney is a department store in the USA._

_Since this story takes place after S5, we are looking at the book series #1-6 and the film series #1-3 or 4. Aragog was a giant spider, first introduced in "Chamber of Secrets"_

* * *

_A lot of stuff here to build up to the conclusion in Part 25 - End Act 2. (You'll find out how he got his pink cast.) I hope everyone enjoyed this part and I look forward to any reviews you may share. Thank you again for coming along for the ride. Tally-ho! :-D  
_


	25. Chapter 25

_All right, boys and girls, here is the big finish to Act 2 - Aftermath which opens the door to the start of Act 3 - Resolution. (You'd assume that wouldn't you?) I was hoping to get more of an idea where to start Act 3 before I posted this piece but decided I needed to get it out there so I would keep your interest going for a bit longer at least. Act 3 - Part 26 is a mess of ideas that I hope to have sorted out by the end of this week then go like gangbusters on it._

_A great big thank you for those of you sticking to me: TessTrueHeart, gsr309, NickyStokes, SevernSound, was spratlurid quimby, Otie1983, Moonstarer and, of course, Nancy1._

_This is a long piece to, hopefully, tie you over until Part 26 makes its appearance. Read and enjoy._

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 25**

**Grissom**

"There he is! There he is! Come on!"

I can hear Simon before I even get out of the car and step out with a smile on my face, Hank being a good boy and sticking close. I can see the Remingtons being dragged over as mom and I walk to meet them halfway.

"Mrs. Remington, it's so nice to see you again," I say smiling at her.

"Please, call me Clara. This is my husband, Mitch," she says pointing to a tall, thin dark haired man.

"Very nice to meet you, Dr. Grissom," he says, clasping both hands around mine.

"I'm Gil and this is my mother, Annie Grissom. She's my driver today," I say holding up my casted hand.

Mitch grasps Annie's outstretched hand first. "I'm so honored to meet the mother of Doctor, of Gil. He is a great man."

"I know," she answers and I try to ignore the fact that the tips of my ears are, no doubt, turning red.

"And this is Simon," I add to distract her nodding toward the bouncing boy staring at Hank. His head finally pops up when Clara taps him.

"Oh, hi," he says reaching out his hand. Mom's smile widens as she takes it.

"Hello yourself."

"How come you talk funny?"

"Simon . . ."

"That's okay," mom quickly says. "I'm deaf, Simon," she answers using her voice and hands to speak. "I cannot hear you but I can read your lips and talk with my hands."

"Wow. That's neat."

"Yes, it is," she answers with a laugh. She looks at me and I sign a quick 'sorry' but she looks more amused than upset.

"You really brought him," Simon says around a toothy grin drawing me back to why we came early.

"I said I would." I lean over and unclasp the leash. "Simon this is Hank. Hank this is Simon. He's a friend so treat him nice. _(Chuff-chuff)_ Carry on then," I say handing Simon a ratty ball. "It's his favorite."

"Thank you!" he shouts quickly heading off to a patch of green near the front entrance of the LAPD.

"Be careful, honey!" Clara calls after him.

We all stand and watch a boy and a dog play, a very simple thing that should always happen, leading us away, just for a moment, from a sharper, more chaotic reality. It's soothing.

"Don't forget to get your glasses," Mom says and it takes a moment to realize she'd spoken.

"Oh, right."

Turning to the Remingtons, I make my excuses and hurry off. I should only be a couple of minutes. Plenty of time to come back and watch Simon play. But it appears that won't be the case as I'm greeted with thumbs up and pats on the back from cops, CSI's, and lab rats. Connie Taggert gives me a golden smile when I manage to break away to finally slip into my little office only to feel a sudden rise of the hackles on my neck.

"Grissom."

Slowly I turn, tensing at the sight of Dexter Richter staring at me with narrowed eyes. It looks like he's grinding his teeth, then biting his tongue and I raise a brow concerned he might start spitting blood any moment when he thrusts out his hand. It's my turn to narrow eyes as I search for some horrible thing attached to his palm. Finding nothing I still don't move as I look back up at him.

"Congratulations," he manages to get out, how I don't know since I can't see any space between his teeth. I force myself to take his hand for a quick shake before he drops it.

"That must've killed you," I comment.

"You'll never know." Turning on his heel, he disappears down the corridor and I wipe my hand on my pants. No need to take chances.

Turning around, I spot my wayward glasses sitting atop an open file which I close and pick up. I no longer need this file or the three others beneath it and pick those up as well. My job is over. April's case is closed with Ally Corrs not far behind. It'll be up to Peter and the others to close the four newly opened cases attached to items found in Jeremy Roberts' house not me. I'm done.

Looking about the tiny space I see nothing of mine left behind except my 'put together' kit. I'll leave that here. I don't want Conway thinking I'm here to stay. This was merely a trial to see if I could still do it. And I can. I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like I'd forget how to do the stuff I've been doing for over 20 years. It's more surprise at the _wanting_ to do it, I guess. The Fab Four will be proud of me, proud that I conquered that particular fear.

Flicking off the light, I head back out into the corridor and my steps slow. I shouldn't be thinking about what I'm thinking but I can't stop thinking about it. Shaking my head a bit to dislodge that convoluted bit of inner commentary, I look back down the corridor in the direction of the jail. What would be the purpose? Why do I have this need to do this? I shouldn't care anymore. It's over. Over and done with.

And then I'm standing behind a glass wall peering into the cells catching sight of Roberts in his orange jumper looking dejected and decidedly uncomfortable.

Good.

He looks much worse now than when they hauled him into interrogation – arrogant, calm, convinced he didn't have a care in the world. But then my memory of the entire thing is a bit jumbled which is odd for me because, normally, I remember all of it especially when it means so much. Of course, it could have something to do with how it ended. I do remember pacing back and forth in my office (which, mind you, is a total of 10 steps wide), then heading out to pace the halls, then the parking lot while we waited for an attorney to be assigned. I kept thinking we caught a break and wished and hoped and prayed it wouldn't fall apart now.

Finally, as the day slipped away and darkness, along with a bite to the air, forced me back inside to pace, I saw Conway coming towards me, a big smile on his face, and an invitation to follow him. I didn't hesitate to let him guide me into the viewing area of their smaller interrogation room. A bit of worry filtered in when he closed the door behind him and stood in front of it, leveling a stern Director's look at me.

"Before you say anything," he began, "let me set down the rules. You need to stay in here, Gil. As a consultant, I cannot have you going into that room. Am I clear?"

I frowned and stared at him. I've gone through so much to catch this man and I was to be relegated to the background? "I _am_ a professional, Conway."

"Yes, you are, but not where this case is concerned. I've seen it before, Gil. I've seen you go a little crazy."

"That was a long time ago."

"And this man was the reason you stayed in that store," he reminds me and I jerk back a bit.

My clenched fists relax and my consuming desire to sit in that room and toss my best glare at Roberts in hopes that he'd disintegrate into a pile of ash when my gaze turns to lasers, dulled a bit.

"Harley Basin has finally shown up from the Public Defender's office. We know him. He's good but he can't get Roberts off with the evidence we have. He's talking to Roberts now and in about five minutes they'll be sitting in that room. But not with you. Are we clear on that?" I looked away. "Gil, are you listening to me? You've got that funny look I remember you using when you chose to ignore me."

I remained silent, not trusting my voice. He was right, I just didn't want to admit it.

"I will not have a discrepancy ruin this case. With the evidence you found, the 911 call from Amber Tice and what Peter found at his house, we've got him. Don't do anything stupid. Got that?" Still I said nothing. "Got that?" he repeated and, this time, he was in my face. Backing up a step, I nodded. "Let me hear you say it, Gil. I'm not kidding here."

"I won't do anything stupid," I quietly answered. He stared at me for a moment then relaxed and patted me on the arm.

"Now, they're going to bring him in. I want you to stay in here until they haul his ass out. Okay?"

I put on a tentative smile and launched it at him. "I'll be a good boy, Conway, I promise."

"Okay, 'cause I'd hate to have to call Annie to come bail you out. She'd never invite me to dinner again."

I held up a hand in surrender before sitting down to watch him leave, taking in a deep breath to quell the butterflies in my stomach. We'd been waiting for what seemed like the better part of the day and now that it was moments away my hands started to shake. Was it relief that it was almost over or worry that it could all fly apart? That my life I'd been trying to get back together would disappear completely, reverting to how I was when I first arrived at mom's. I rubbed at my face.

Then guilt hit me. This had nothing to do with me and everything to do with April Remington and Ally Corrs and whoever else Roberts had destroyed. For me to sit here and worry about myself . . .

I shook my head and leaned elbows on my knees, a drifting '_what if he walked_' floating through my head to make my heart beat a little faster. I'd seen it before. Solid evidence thrown into question by something inane and out the door they'd go. But we had a 911 call this time, Amber Tice, adamant that Roberts was the guy who'd attacked her and she'd skewered with her high heel. She wanted to testify. But what if she changed her mind? What if the clothes Peter found at Roberts' house couldn't be tied to April? What if . . .

"Enough," I said aloud and ran a hand through my hair. This wasn't helping.

But I'd been here so many times before with other cases, other victims, other bad guys who'd walked because of some little bit of nothing that threw everything into chaos. This couldn't be one of those times. It just couldn't. If he walked it would be like I'd let the Remingtons down and Ally Corrs . . . and Sara. How would I ever tell Sara that we had him and lost him again?

"Please have a seat, Mr. Roberts," came Carmine's voice over the speakers and my head snapped up, eyes falling immediately on Roberts moseying around the table followed by an older gentleman, presumably Harley Basin. Conway was seated at the table as well.

"What's this all about, Captain?" Harley asked.

"As of right now we're charging your client with one count of rape, one count of murder and one count of attempted rape. We'll waive the broken taillight for now."

Harley didn't bat an eye. "As of right now?"

"That's right. Our current evidence points only to two victims here in Los Angeles but we're still sifting through his apartment so no telling what we'll find."

"My client has informed me he was home all night until he went out to get a pizza and gas where your Officer Vanner pulled him over for a broken taillight."

"And did he explain his leg wound?" Carmine politely asked.

"He did. He says he told the Officer he fell at the gas station."

"Officer Vanner did mention that in his report, along with the fact that you tried to drive away before he let you loose," he said, his attention shifting to Roberts.

"I thought he was done with me," was Roberts' comeback.

"If you didn't have a ticket in your hand, he wasn't done with you," Carmine explained.

"Have you searched the gas station to corroborate my client's claims?" Harley asked.

"I have a team there now," Conway added, "and they are very thorough. So far nothing."

"Well, keep looking," Roberts added, stopping when Harley touched his arm.

"Oh, we will," Conway continued, "even though we don't really have to since we have the object that created that hole in your leg in evidence. And we didn't find it at the gas station."

"Please clarify," Harley requested.

"A 911 call came in claiming that a man, fitting your client's description, tried to rape the caller and the only thing that saved her was this," Carmine said pulling up a 6" stiletto heeled shoe secure in an evidence bag. "If you look closely you can see blood on the heel."

"Which matches to Mr. Roberts," Conway added before Harley could say anything.

"Just because you have a shoe that possibly matches the hole in his leg . . . "

"With Roberts' blood on it," Carmine reminded him.

"Doesn't mean that there couldn't be something at the gas station," he completed, undeterred in his quest to dot every 'I' and cross every 'T'.

"As stated," Conway began, "we are combing the area for an item that would create the exact same hole in your client's leg with splashes of his blood on it to corroborate your story. Nothing yet."

"Oh, and did I fail to mention that our 911 caller picked your client out of a line up?" Carmine gave Roberts a sly smile and I smirked. Yes, he and Jim would get on fine. "Nothing to say in your defense?"

"I didn't kill anyone."

"Evidence says different."

"Prove it."

"Oh, we will."

"And there's another matter," Conway brought up. **"**Your client is also wanted in Nevada for the rape/murder of Ally Corrs," he said as he slid over her photo. "This happened almost two months ago." He next slid over a photo of April Remington. "This happened three weeks ago and are the current charges." He pointed to the shoe next. "That happened last night."

"Feel the noose tightening, Jerry?" Carmine added.

And then . . . I guess it was Ally Corrs' photograph that made me drift back to the first time I laid eyes on Roberts, to Sara doing her best to get the guy and only endangering her life. I remember feeling helpless and scared and angry that she'd put herself into such a situation and making me petrified with worry that something would happen to her, that something _had_ happened to her. Those chaotic moments in my office; words said, feelings hurt, and my world crashing down around me as she walked out the door, knowing in my heart that I'd never see her again. That was such an awful feeling and I could feel it again as I sat there, trying to drag my focus back onto what was going on in the other room and failing miserably.

Unable to sit still, I got up and paced, rubbing at my stomach, until I simply leaned my head against the wall, willing away that fractured part of me and reminding myself that this was a good thing. Not only for myself, for Sara, but for all the women who were potential targets of this sick man. This was not the time to spiral back down into that dark place I'd been clawing my way out of. This was a good thing. This was me inching my way onto the far turn and staring at the homestretch thinking it didn't seem as insurmountable as before. I was beginning to believe that this was what would set me free.

"What else do you have because a shoe with my client's blood on it doesn't prove he raped or murdered anyone?" came Harley's bored voice, the sound piercing through my angsty moment and drawing me back to the here and now, making me sit again.

"How about we found an odd collection of items in Mr. Roberts' closet stuffed in a box marked 'Treasures'," Carmine added pushing over a photograph of the same.

"And why is this significant?" Harley asked.

"Because this item," he said holding up a necklace with a cartouche dangling at the center in another evidence bag, "is April Remington's name in Egyptian and has been identified by her parents as the gift they got her for her 15th birthday."

"I don't know how you could've found that in my house since I've never seen it before."

"Funny that," Carmine said. "But your fingerprints are on it."

"I don't know an April Remington," Roberts spat, quickly losing his composure, "or Ally Corrs or Amber Tice. I don't know anything about a box in my closet. You're trying to frame me!"

Carmine and Conway broke out in grins and I could see Harley wince.

Got you, you bastard!

"Huh," Carmine said rubbing his chin. "We never mentioned the name of the 911 caller. And wouldn't you know it. Her name is Amber Tice."

Roberts' mouth hung open and you could see him realize he'd just hung himself. Nervously, he glanced toward Harley who merely shook his head and closed up his folder. Carmine came slowly to his feet and motioned toward the uniform standing near the door.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Roberts yelled, jumping up from his chair and backing away from the approaching policeman, all pretense of calm gone.

"We've already read you your rights, Mr. Roberts, when you were arrested earlier for trying to run from a police officer but we'll do it again since you are now being officially charged with murder, rape and attempted rate. Try and have a good evening."

"Wait! You've got the wrong guy! I didn't do anything!"

Harley stood then and walked away, tossing out 'we'll be in touch' just before he exited the room. I stared at Roberts as he struggled for a bit with the uniform and dragged his feet as he was pulled across the room, claiming over and over they had the wrong man while the officer valiantly continued mirandizing him. In his struggle, he turned my way and I could see the realization spread across his face that this was the end. I leaned against the glass to see every emotion, every ounce of fear that was building in him and smiled.

I hadn't felt that good in a long time. It made me feel free as if I'd been shackled by the specter of this man, shoved into a corner because of what he'd done and how it had affected both Sara and myself. I could breathe easier knowing it was close to being over. Every piece of evidence was lining up and more was sure to follow. And it was all started because of a broken taillight and a 911 call. The pink blusher would soon follow. Simon would be pleased to know that his off the cuff remark would clinch the case on his sister's murder. It wouldn't ease his loss but it might put a bit of hope back into him, into the family.

I did as I was told. I stayed in the viewing room until I was sure Roberts was gone then ambled out into the corridor, catching sight of him as they rounded the corner and out of sight, still shouting. My job here was over. Now I had to think about getting my life back, if that was possible. Facing up to people back in Vegas. Deciding on what I wanted to do about Sara. Our tentative Emails notwithstanding, there was still that glimmer inside me that thought I could try again no matter how nervous it made me. This bit of closure had a bolstering effect on my ego (no matter how hard I tried to deny it). I headed for my office.

All police stations have a myriad of sound present. People coming and going, conversations, shouting victims and crying witnesses, pieces of equipment spitting out information and arrest warrants. A cacophony of sound as Al Robbins called it once, much preferring the quietness of the morgue. And amid all that sound, something bounced back to me, some individual sound that didn't belong, and I slowed by steps to try and pinpoint where it was coming from. Finally, I simply stopped and focused, attempting to weed out everything but that one piece of . . .

"GIL!"

Conway's voice came rocketing at me, nearly flooring me with its intensity, and I spun and, well, simply reacted. The next thing I knew Roberts was flat on the floor, I was doubled over and being led to one of the benches in the corridor. It wasn't until later, as I sat in the emergency room, that I could piece the steps together.

I remembered swinging around at my name to see Roberts running straight for me. He wasn't swerving. I could make out uniforms giving chase but there was nothing between me and the door. I had to stop him. But, instead of tackling him and letting the uniforms take over, I lifted my right hand, my casted right hand, and gave it all I got. I've never actually seen anyone drop to the ground so fast. (Catherine would be proud.) But then I nearly followed as the pain hit me, pulling my hand to my chest and holding on. Next thing I knew I was sitting and someone was calling for the paramedics and all I could think on was I don't need a paramedic, just a ride to the hospital, when I realized they weren't talking about me but Roberts who was sprawled out on the floor unconscious, blood oozing from his obviously broken nose.

Wow. No wonder my hand hurt.

By nature I'm not a violent man. But that doesn't mean I can't protect myself if necessary. And, apparently . . . I should've felt guilty. I should've felt torn between my civic duty and my desire to stomp on his prone form. But all I felt was satisfied. And, if I hadn't of been in such pain, I would've been doing a happy dance up and down the corridor that that bastard, with a broken face, had a life sentence hanging over his head and, possibly, a cell mate that didn't take kindly to rapists.

"You're smiling," came Conway's voice along with an ice pack. "Should I be worried?"

I shook my head and took the ice to drape over my throbbing fingers. "Don't think so."

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he asked. "Taking down the bad guy."

"More than I thought possible," I admitted.

"You did good, Gil," he said, slapping my back. "And now let me drive you to the hospital. Don't want you getting into fisticuffs with Roberts in the back of an ambulance. Come on," he said, hauling me to my feet and letting me lean against him for a moment, yammering on about how it was like watching something on television.

I took in a couple of deep breaths in hopes of marshaling the pain somehow then decided to accept it as a mark of valor or something that I'd finally, and on purpose, defeated the man who'd haunted my dreams. I'd come through scathed but not broken, at least, not anymore.

"You should be a boxer," comes at me and I jump, startled out of my thoughts, to see the smiling face of Carmine. "You've got yourself a good right jab."

I snicker. "At the rate I'm going I'll never be out of this cast."

Carmine nods and looks back to Roberts. "Fancy the new color."

"_I_ like it," I say, the both of us now staring at him.

"They say real men aren't afraid to wear pink."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

He turns toward me and thumps me on the back. "And you, my friend, are a real man and I'd gladly have you as my back-up any day of the week."

Before I can respond, he strides off and I stare after him thinking how that is one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me. I turn my attention back to Roberts and stand a bit straighter deciding I don't need to be here just now. There are more important things right outside the door like a little boy and a dog.

Handing off the files to Connie and pocketing my glasses, I head back out, slipping past the Sheriff and his minions to stand with mom and Mitch Remington, all of us focusing on Simon. Mom casts a glance my way then a full blown look.

"You look pleased with yourself," she signs.

"More than I've been in a long time."

"Good."

I grin.

"This is a nice thing you're doing," Mitch says to me as we watch Hank try to get the ball from Simon.

I shrug. "I promised he could meet Hank."

"No," he says with a small shake of the head making me turn to face him. "No, I mean spending time with him."

I try not to look at him oddly but probably fail. "Simon's a great kid."

"I know but you caught him . . . Roberts, you caught him. Your job is done and yet you're still here taking the time to introduce your dog and accept his invitation to the zoo to see the butterflies."

It occurs to me that maybe the family doesn't want me around. Perhaps I remind them of things they'd rather forget.

"I can back out if you'd like. I don't mean to . . ."

"No," Mitch stops me. "I'm not explaining myself very well." He takes a moment as if wrestling with words he needs to say. "Simon is a very bright boy. He loves to read and learn and it causes him some grief at school. He's a science geek and, while that can be fulfilling when you're older, it's not so much when you're a kid."

"I know about that."

"And that's why I think Simon likes you so much. You seem to be able to reach him on a level that I can't, that his mom can't. Rilly could and now . . ." He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "Now he doesn't have that anymore. I try, Clara tries but . . . " Stopping again, he moves his arms across his chest then drops them to his side before looking back at me. "I just think it's nice that you want to spend time with him, talk to him about things, about . . . Rilly. It's hard for us to talk about her and he misses her so. And he may only be 6-1/2." He stops again but grins this time. "I have to be precise. He insists upon it." I chuckle, remembering myself. "He has a connection with you and I believe that's very important. So you wanting to come with him to see the butterflies is a great gift not only for Simon but for Clara and myself and I wanted . . . I wanted to thank you from all of us. My family is my life but I know when to step back and let someone help where I can't. It happens to be you."

I'm stunned. I've never been very good with people even though the Fab Four seemed to feel I fit right in with them. My interaction skills have always been something I considered a weak point, deciding that insects didn't care so let it go. It's only when I'm reminded of my shortcomings that I remember I probably should've learned to connect with people at some point in my life.

"In my normal job back in Vegas, I don't get to spend much time with the victims' families to answer any questions they may have because, unfortunately, there's always another case waiting in the wings. It's not something we try to do because we need to keep our emotions separate if we want to continue doing our job. Besides, I've never been comfortable with dealing on an emotional level with others. I'm not a good people person." I look back at him. "But then I met Simon and Clara, and now you, and find I want to help in any way I can."

"And you have," he says sincerely. "I should be jealous, being that that is my responsibility as his father, but I can barely get through the days myself. I can never thank you enough."

A peal of Simon's laughter interrupts us and we both look his way. I can't help but smile.

"_That_ is thanks enough for me." Mitch nods and swipes at his eyes and, in looking away, I see Conway motioning to me. "Excuse me a moment."

I start toward him, noticing all the people who've suddenly shown up and peer at my watch – 4:40pm. Looking up I see the Sheriff standing next to Conway. I'm not speaking. I'm here for Simon and his parents, not to make the Sheriff look good.

"Dr. Grissom!" I hear from my right and turn to see Clara hurrying toward me as I come to a stop. "I wanted to speak with you before everything starts."

"Of course. And please, call me Gil."

"Yes, sorry. Um," she starts then just flings her arms about me. Startled, I'm not sure what to do with my hands, so gently pat her arms before she lets me go. "I probably shouldn't have done that," she says a bit of red flushing her face.

"That's okay."

"You must get that a lot."

"Rarely," I admit as she chuckles.

"I couldn't think of a better way to thank you for, well, for so many things."

"Your husband has already thanked me."

"Yes, for April and being someone Simon can talk to."

"It's my pleasure."

"Did he also thank you for giving Simon his voice back?"

My brow furrows. "I'm sorry?"

"I should start at the beginning," she says followed by a slightly embarrassed look. "After everything happened . . . After we buried April, Simon stopped talking. He's not said a single, solitary word through this whole thing. I was so afraid I would lose him, too."

I glance over to Simon happily running in circles with Hank. "I didn't know."

"No, I guess you wouldn't. The doctors said it would pass; that he was still in shock. I thought it was because he'd lost his best friend." She touches my arm to get my attention. "But then you walked into our house and, ever since then he's like the old Simon. That boy can talk your ear off when he's excited about something and he's excited about you and your spider and how you want to go with him to see the butterflies. And I'm so grateful that you're willing to take the time. I'm sure you're incredibly busy . . ."

"I've nothing going at the moment and find it a pleasure to meet a fellow butterfly enthusiast."

She laughed, a light sound that reminded me of Connie, and I felt better just for hearing it.

"Well, that just proves what a kind man you are; taking the time to help a child."

"He reminds me of me," I admit, surprising myself again. "I lost _my_ best friend when I was nine and it took a long time to understand why he had to leave. I take great delight in helping anyway I can."

I find her in my arms again and return her hug this time. "Please come to dinner with us," she says when she lets go.

"There's no need . . ."

"It's something we must do."

I hesitate then nod and she smiles.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Remington," comes Conway's voice, "but I need to borrow Gil for a moment."

"Oh, of course," she answers.

"He'll be right back," he promises and gently hauls me away. "Well, I see you haven't lost your way with the ladies. I've always envied that you know."

"I know."

He shoots me a perturbed look and I chuckle then quiet when I see he's leading me right to the Sheriff. I stiffen and try to put a halt to our progress but to no avail.

"It's a simple thank you, Gil. He doesn't want your first born."

"I'm not . . ."

"Going to speak. I know. He doesn't like it but . . ."

"Tough shit."

"I already told him that, too. Well, in a nicer way of course."

"Of course," I say through clenched teeth.

"Be your usual 'I've no idea what you're talking about' self and you'll make it through. Oh, and smile a couple of times. He'll think you mean it and let it go. Tom," Conway says in that mildly over-the-top voice I've heard on more than one occasion that never goes with the word bubble over his head

"I see you've brought the man of the hour," Sheriff Tom Quinlan spouts with a bright, exaggerated grin. It takes everything I have not to grimace. A hand pops out in front of me and I've no choice but to take it, plastering an appalling version of a smile on my face. He doesn't seem to notice. "Gil," he says pumping my hand like there's no tomorrow.

I really don't like him using my first name. It sounds oily coming from him. "Sheriff," I counter.

"Oh, call me Tom. We should be on a first name basis especially after all you did to close this case."

"I didn't really do . . ."

"Nonsense. You're the best at what you do. Be proud of it and bask in all the glory."

I don't know why I keep trying. "It was really Peter Parker and . . ."

"They were good as well but _you_; you're Gil Grissom, renowned in your field. It is an honor that you graced the doors of the LAPD and showed us how it's done. Exceptional work."

I glare at Conway as the Sheriff continues to shake my hand. I'm getting sicker by the minute and, if he doesn't do something quick, I might just puke on what appear to be new leather shoes.

"Tom, they're calling for you in make-up," Conway pops in and the Sheriff immediately lets go of my hand.

"Is it that time already?"

"Sure is," Conway says and motions to a young woman who rushes up to the Sheriff.

"Right this way, sir," she says, my presence immediately pushed from his view much to my delight.

"Well, that wasn't so bad was it?" Conway asks me. "Oh, there's Annie," he says and takes off before I can rattle his ears with whispered profanities.

"Thanks for trying to get my name in there," comes from behind and I turn to see Peter. Smiling, I shake his hand.

"You did most of the work. You deserve all the recognition you can get."

"I'm gonna miss you when you leave, Grissom. You're good for my ego."

"You don't need me to pump you up. You're an excellent CSI and I'd gladly have you on my team . . . if I still had a team."

He shakes his head at me. "You can have any team you want and you know it. You just have to _want_ it. But, for you, I think consulting is the best route."

"How so?"

"It leaves you more time for fishing."

Smiling, he slaps my arm and moves back to his group, Frances trying desperately to get them all into a cohesive whole behind the small dais they'd set up, dragging Officer Vanner in with them.

I don't recall doing it but I must've mentioned fishing more than once. I do miss it. I'd fallen into a pleasant routine of going out with the guys and not having to think about anything important except who would win the pot for the biggest fish. And, yet, when I decided to work on this case that also became a pleasant routine that I fell back into easily enough after I got over the jitters. If I were to remain a consultant I wouldn't have to worry about excessive paperwork or reprimands or writing evaluations. I wouldn't have to kow-tow to the Sheriff or Ecklie or any other talking head who only wants to hear good things and lies. I could make my own hours, work wherever I want, take time off to write those articles that mom so generously organized for me; go to seminars and conventions. Live the life of Riley.

It all doesn't seem so farfetched now. I'd integrated seamlessly into Conway's group as I have in others. Like riding a bike.

I hear Hank bark and look to see mom waving at me and amble over.

"Well?" she asks.

"You were right. They asked me to dinner."

"And you said yes?" I give her a bit of a shrug and she kisses my cheek. "Good boy. Hank and I will be over here until you're through and then we'll head home. It's not every day a mother gets to see her son on TV."

I can hear Conway yelling for me again. "I've got to go."

"Go on. Your public awaits."

Grinning, I drop a kiss on Hank's head and tell him what a good boy he is then head over toward the dais to stand next to Simon and the Remington's. I then feel a tug on my jacket and glance down.

"Thank you for bringing Hank. He's fun," says Simon.

"You're welcome. Hank had a good time, too. Look, he's smiling."

I point and Simon starts to giggle. "He is." I smile then, too. "Your cast is pink," he says as I kneel down.

"Yep."

"What happened to the other one?"

"Well, I had an accident."

He leans in close. "Did you punch a wall again?"

"Something like that," I whisper back and he nods, a secret between the two of us.

"Did they have any other colors?"

"Yeah, but I wanted pink."

"Why?"

"Because it reminds me of you and the sister you love." His eyes won't let mine go and I think he's going to cry. Please don't do that because I'll follow right behind you. But then he taps his mother's arm.

"I need the thing," he whispers to her.

"Oh," she says and reaches into her purse to hand him a small envelope which he then hands to me.

"What's this?" I ask pulling open the flap.

"A present," is all he says and I frown a bit then look inside, pulling out a tarantula decal. "It's for your cast so you won't miss Arthur." I feel my eyes fill and tighten my jaw. "It's okay to miss him," he says and I stutter out a laugh. "Can I hug you?"

Oh, now I really know I'm going to cry. "That would be nice," I say and hold on tight as he does to me. I hear a couple of 'ahhhs' from the gathered but decide not to be embarrassed. This is between the two of us spider loving, Harry Potter fans.

"Thank you, Simon," I whisper to him.

"You're welcome."

Letting me go, I stand and find his hand in mine. I hold on tightly as the lights come up, the news people begin their intros and the Sheriff is introduced.

"Thank you all for coming," he begins amid sounds of cameras and video equipment. "It is with great relief I can report that a murderer/rapist is now off the streets and I have many people to thank. Let's start with . . .

**Sara - 10:30pm**

"I was going to ask what you're doing here so early then I remembered who it was I was going to ask," Warrick says to me as I come out of the locker room.

"Ha, ha," I give back and walk past him.

"Really, Sara, why are you here so early?" comes at me from behind.

I turn and walk backwards, holding up my hand with two fingers an inch apart. "I'm this close to closing the Franklin case."

"Ah," he says. "You go, girl."

I give him a full smile and head toward Trace. I can't possibly tell him why I'm here early, why I couldn't sleep, why I'm about to fidget right out of my skin. First he'd be mad I hadn't told him that Gil had contacted me then he'd want to know how I felt and what did he say and I really, really don't want to share. That bit of information is for me. It's the little bit of blue sky peaking through heavy gray clouds, clouds that I created, parting ever so slightly. It's a joyous occasion and it's all mine.

I can see Hodges bent over a microscope. What's _he_ doing here early? If I walk in there he'll know immediately that something's up then he'll quiz me the rest of the night and I really don't want to deal with that, so I push on, zip past his space before he senses a shift in the airflow or force or space time continuum that surrounds him. I've seen him do it before. My zipping takes me close to Gil's office and I peer inside, catching sight of Nick behind the desk feeding the resident bugs. I can even hear him talking to them.

"Hey, Arthur, how's it hanging? I know. I'm not Grissom. Yeah, I miss him, too. But he'll be back soon. You just wait. He'll come walking through those doors and say 'Arthur, you'll never guess what I saw in California.' Then he'll regale you for hours about it. All your eyes'll be spinning with the tales he'll tell. You'll be so excited and so will the rest of us."

Nick may guess but never know exactly how excited I'd be to have Gil walk through those doors, take his seat behind that desk, purse his lips, drop his glasses down his nose and zone out over some case that has him baffled. It would make everything make sense again. It would ease my nerves; it would make me rest easier knowing he was, at least, in the same state.

I shouldn't linger here but find I can't help but stay rooted to the spot watching Nick. It reminds me so of the first time I caught Gil talking to his bugs.

It was a Sunday. We'd both had the night off so decided to wear ourselves out by hiking around Lake Mead. Not the entire lake. Gil cried Uncle about halfway, sat down and didn't get up for an hour. I was worried until he wrestled me to the ground and we made out like teenagers for another hour. The hike back was slow and he let me drive home while he dozed in the passenger seat. He could barely get out of the car when we arrived, bent over and leaning on me as we made it into the house. I expressed my worry but he assured me he was just an old fart and would recover in time. I helped him into the shower and hurried off to make him some soup all the while readying the bedroom for a massage to ease his tender muscles. By the time I got back with his dinner, he was sound asleep on top of the covers, only a bath towel covering him. I laid a quilt over him and snuggled up next to him and fell asleep.

A few hours later I awoke to an empty bed. The quilt was pushed back and he wasn't anywhere in the room. I heard a noise and grabbed my robe, wrapping it about myself as I followed the sound realizing, as I got closer, it was Gil's voice. There was a light on in his office and the door was slightly ajar. I was reaching for it when I heard my name and stopped.

"Sara's gonna be upset with me. Well, I ruined our day together by trying to prove that I could keep up with her. I'm not as young as I used to be even though she makes me feel that way. Not in as good a shape either. I was hoping to make it up to her when we got home but I fell asleep. At least we weren't in the middle of my making it up to her. That would've been far worse."

I felt myself smiling. He's a worrywart about such things.

"But when I woke up she was snuggled right up next to me. I'm guessing if she'd been mad I would've been alone. You think so, too?"

Who is he talking to?

"And I should go right back in there and wait until she wakes then make it up to her then?"

No, wake me up now, wake me up now!

"Okay, I'll do that. You know if this fails, Arthur, I'm not going to be on speaking terms with you for awhile."

My brows flew up my forehead. Arthur? Arthur? He's talking to his spider?

I saw the door move and instantly backed away, flying down the hall and flinging myself into bed, hastily removing my robe and tossing it back on the chair, turning away from the door willing my breath to slow. The bed dipped and I could feel his heat at my back as he moved in close and pulled the quilt up. It was then I took the time to 'wake', rolling over to bury my head in his chest, his arms wrapping about me.

"Hey," I lazily said.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered kissing the top of my head.

"'s'okay," I answered pulling him closer. "Is Arthur all right?" He stiffened and I grinned.

"Ah, yeah," he finally managed. I was trying not to giggle and about to fail as I looked up at him to catch his eyes. His narrowed and then he started to blush. "You heard me."

"Yep."

"That's called eavesdropping, my dear."

"Yep." He stared at me some more but said nothing. "I think it's nice you worry about such things. It means you care how I feel and that's really sexy."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah," I said and dived in for a kiss to which he fully responded, backing away slightly so his mouth could travel over my chin and down my neck. "And while I appreciate Arthur's advice to let me sleep, whenever you want to make it up to me, please wake me up." He smiled against my neck and I couldn't help but giggle some more.

"It looks like I'm still on speaking terms with Arthur," he commented just before disappearing under the blankets and making me squeal.

"Sara? Sara?" came at me and my eyes darted to Nick staring at me. "You're phone's ringing."

"What?" He pointed then and I glanced down, my ears beginning to work again. Dance of the Bumble Bee. Oh! "Thanks."

Whipping the phone off my hip, I hurried away, trying to find a quiet place. Ducking into the evidence room and closing the door, I leaned against it and looked at my phone. It was another Email.

He wrote back!

Taking a settling breath I tapped it open. _'I'm doing better.' _He's doing better. I held the phone to my chest. I'd asked him how he was and he's doing better. I couldn't keep the smile off my face if I tried. Glancing at the screen again I ran a finger over the words, stopping as I noticed something near the bottom. Scrolling up I found a news link. Why would he send me a news link?

You won't know until you open it.

Tapping it, I wait while the hourglass turns over then a reporter's face pops in.

"_Sheriff Tom Quinlan held a press conference today to report that a person of interest in the rape and murder of 17 year old April Remington was brought in for questioning and subsequently arrested. Ms. Remington was found by her parents in their home three weeks ago and . . ."_

"Sara! Sara, are you in there?" Greg! "I saw you go in there. Come out. I have something to show you."

"I'm not in here," I respond.

"You'll really want to see this."

Sighing, I close my Email and open the door. "This better be good."

"Oh, it is," he says grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the breakroom, Nick and Warrick already ensconced on the couch in front of the television with a still picture of Paula Francis waiting for us.

"Okay, Greggo," Nick begins. "What's so important?"

"This," he says, pushing a button on the remote, animating Paula once again.

" _. . . Vegas CSI were mentioned today at a press conference in Los Angeles held by Sheriff Tom Quinlin. Seems our intrepid CSI's helped solve an on-going case that started here and ended up there."_

The screen shifts to a tall, angular man standing behind a dais with the LAPD logo across the front. He looks oily, smarmy, just like our own Sheriff, or Ecklie, when the cameras come their way.

"Hey, there's Grissom," Nick states and I lean in over the couch to get a better look. He looks good, much better than the last time I saw him.

"Told you this was important," Greg states.

"What's that?" Warrick points. "Is that a pink cast on his hand?"

"Nah, not pink."

"Yeah, that's pink," Greg adds.

Yeah, that's pink. First it was blue, then purple. What's that man doing to himself?

_"Thank you all for coming. It is with great relief I can report that a murderer/rapist is now off the streets and I have many people to thank. Let's start with Dr. Gil Grissom from our brothers in Las Vegas . . ."_

"Shout out for Grissom!" Nick says as they all clap and I take note of the lack of an uncomfortable look on his face. Odd. Gil hates press conferences and he always has that pinched look about him. But not this time. I see him glance down to a little boy who's, who's holding his hand. Gil smiles then and I know what I'm going to be doing on my next break – finding out whom that is.

"_. . . It is an honor to have someone of his capabilities offering up his time to help solve this case. In our own LAPD group we thank Peter Parker and Officer Roy Vanner, both showing a great work ethic, determination and the ability to be in the right place at the right time to benefit all citizens of Los Angeles. We salute you all and thank you."_

Paula's face reappears. _"The Sheriff ended the conference with a series of questions and answers. The man arrested, Jeremy Roberts, was brought in for questioning surrounding the rape/murder of Las Vegas resident, Ally Corrs, almost two months ago but was let go due to insufficient evidence. The other news of the day . . ."_

"Isn't that cool?" Greg asks me and I turn to him.

"Very cool," is all I can say as I back out of the room and head outside into the night, hoping no one follows me.

Everything's coming at me. The man who made me act like a fool is in jail and Gil put him there. He now has a pink cast. And he's holding a little boy's hand.

And all he sent me in the Email was 'I'm doing better'.

I smile at that. Of all the things he could've told me – who was caught, what happened, were there any problems - he told me that instead. Typical Gil.

How I miss typical Gil.

**Grissom - 4:30am – the next morning**

I'm going fishing!

I've needed this for the past two weeks and now it's finally here. I can't stop smiling. I think there's something wrong with me. But you know what? I don't care 'cause I'm going fishing, hand hurting or not.

The guys will be thrilled to hear about my decking Roberts and even make fun over my pink cast (until I tell them why it's this color). It's going to be a good day. It's going to be a good day even though my phone is ringing. Who dares to call me this early?

I pull it from my fishing vest, glance at the screen, then sigh. "Grissom," I say as I continue to sort out my gear.

"I know it's early, Gil," Conway's voice comes at me.

"I'm going fishing."

"We need you."

"F-i-s-h-i-n-g."

"We've got bugs."

"Call an exterminator. I'm going fishing."

"You can fish any day, Gil. I've got a DB with bugs up in the Santa Monica Mountains. Are you game?"

His excitement appears to be contagious since I'm getting that tingle in my gut I usually feel when bugs are involved. (Another checkpoint on my imaginary checklist of 'do I want to keep doing this job'.) I'll give him credit for not jumping in when I don't respond. He's waiting me out. Smart man.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I answer ending the call so I don't have to hear him gloat.

Glancing at my gear propped against the door, I hesitate. I _really_ want to go fishing. But there's a body with bugs. A quiet knock sounds and I open the front door to see Paul standing there. His smile turns puzzled.

"Conway has a body with bugs in the mountains," I blurt out, words all strung together, as my eyes shift to my gear then back to him. The puzzlement disappears.

"I'll drive," he says and I smile, stepping toward him. "Ah, you'll probably want to change."

I look down at myself. "Oh, right." Then hurry off, leaving him standing in the doorway.

"I'll meet you in the car."

"Okay," I toss over my shoulder as I climb the stairs, hearing his slight laugh just before the door closes.

I can't help but grin at myself. I'm excited about going to work. I wonder if I would be this excited about going back to work in Vegas. Is it just because this is a different place? My baggage isn't as extensive here as it is there. The people I've met haven't treated me like anything other than a CSI. Of course I'm not too dense to understand that Conway had something to do with that but to find people who didn't ask one question about the incident . . .

Shrugging, I peel off my fishing duds and jump into my other stuff, grabbing the jacket mom got me and run back down the stairs to leave her a note – 'Gone to see a body with bugs'. She'll smile all day over that.

I grab my keys then stop. Is this the decision I've been putting off making, of going back to work as a CSI? Should I even be making such a decision when I'm still feeling elated about solving a case that nearly did me in?

I know, at some point, I'm going to have to force myself to sit down and do what I don't want to do – make a decision about my current life. Work with Conway as a consultant or stay home and write articles, chair conferences or give lectures? Or should I suck it up and go home to Vegas; step back into my role as supervisor and go on from there? Of course going on from there involves coming to terms with Sara and how I feel _now_ about what she did, about how I reacted. Shaking my head, I know this is not the time to reflect. My brain's heading toward bugs and that can be all consuming, should be if I'm to find the answers I seek.

'_Tomorra is another day'_ drifts through my head and I smirk. Yes, tomorrow is another day when I hope to finally go fishing and maybe find more answers but that is not this day. This day is introducing Paul to the world of bugs so he'll have a tale to tell and, maybe then, I'll know what my future holds or, at least, where I might want it to go.

I open the door and head out.

**End of Act 2**

* * *

_Well, there it is. The END of ACT 2! Feels like only five years ago I started this thing. Okay, it wasn't that long ago but, some days, it sure feels like it. And now I'm heading straight into uncharted territory, that whole 'where no man has gone before' kinda thing. (I've been trying to get a Star Trek reference in this piece for, like, forever!) So, I ask again that you bear with me as I founder, flounder and drown (sounds like a law firm) in my merry attempt to make a cohesive Act 3 that works. I still appreciate any and all pieces of advice, help, storylines, suggestions, ideas, and mounds of chocolate to keep me going because I'm writing this piece for more than just myself but for you, my loyal reviewers and readers, who've journeyed along with me. _

_So I beg forgiveness before I even start at perhaps longer posting times (just in case) because I want to get this right (as right as I can) for all of us to be satisfied as Grissom/Sara work out their problems with all of us looking over their shoulders._

_Well, stay tuned, cross your fingers (and eyes if it helps) and I'll be back at you as soon as I can. And wouldn't it be nice if next week I magically broke the back of Part 26 and you see it in your Email a few days later. Wish me luck! :-)_


	26. Chapter 26

_All righty then, here comes Act 3 - Resolution. It's a slow process since I'm winging this part until I get closer to the end so, please, bear with me. Again I accept any and all suggestions and appreciate all reviews that come my way. As always my thanks go out to: was spratlurid quimby, Hithui, gsr309, SevernSound, Otie1983, paxtonq (new one=thanks), TessTrueHeart, Moonstarer and my #1 fan, Nancy1.  
_

_(Note: The missing line from Part 25 in Grissom's last section was: "Conway has a body with bugs in the mountains," I blurt out as my eyes shift to my gear then back to him. The puzzlement disappears.' The words were all strung together without spaces. Apparently, FF didn't like that so there you go.)  
_

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Act 3 - Resolution**

Pressing is the time we wait to regain what is lost  
To see if we've left behind more than a thought or footstep or bit of life  
Within the coming dawn could be the answer we seek  
Or another missing moment to pile atop those already there  
Heavy it becomes to face a new day without the joy of what was  
seeing only the hollow space of what is left behind.  
So reach out and grab what is there; to look not back but forward to a new day  
It is here you will find what was lost, what was hidden away in a dark place  
It is here you will regain yourself and find all those moments you'd never lost in the first place.

**Part 26 – 22 days Later**

**Grissom**

Okay, I'm here. I'm here in my home. My home in Vegas.

I believe I've been standing in the same spot for a good five minutes. It could be more. I know Hank's worried. I can feel him staring at me. The kids are quiet, still sitting in their travel container in my hand, but that's to be expected. They've never been here before. My bags are still in the car and I can't seem to move. Well, at least my feet aren't moving. My eyes take in every space.

It all looks different somehow. It's no longer bleak nor does it hold a feeling of despair that had so encased me. I take that as a good sign but don't gather to me 100%. Not yet anyway. _Chuff, chuff_ comes at me and I finally glance down. Hank_ is_ worried. But then I smile and so does he. It appears all is right in his world at the moment. Now onto mine.

I take a step and frown wondering at the absence of smell that should be clinging to everything. I sniff again. There's nothing. Placing the kids on the kitchen counter, I reach for the fridge door then hesitate. Visions of 'Zuul' attack me and I laugh, opening the door to see . . . nothing. It's empty. I'm not too clear on what was in there when I left but I know there was more than nothing. Hmm.

Looking away from the fridge I notice the air isn't stale, the kitchen trash is empty and there isn't any dust anywhere. Evidence points to someone being here and I bet it was Catherine, doing her best to make sure my homecoming isn't something I'll regret from the get go. I'm glad she's my friend. I smile at the memory of our last phone conversation that served to reinforce my belief that I've become more decisive.

It was the day after the press conference, after Paul and I dragged ourselves home from our 'outing in the woods', as he called it, and into the house, mom taking command and sitting us down for a hot meal. Naturally, Paul regaled her about how disgusting a dead, decomposing body was as he pushed in bite after bite of mom's pot roast. I, on the other hand, was exhausted and my hand had long since moved from throbbing to lancing pain. She must've seen my discomfort because a pill was thrust into my hand then my full plate and a quick 'eat' signed my way.

"Annie, it was fascinating. Gil couldn't do much with his cast so I became his hands and, once I managed to get my stomach to stay in place, it was . . . it was like nothing I've ever experienced in my life! I've always appreciated Gil and his smarts but now, now I've experienced them first hand. Your boy's a smart cookie."

Mom laughed and I just shrugged taking my first bite of her roast, soon followed by many more when I realized how hungry I was. It was as good as I remembered.

"He was a good helper," I added between bites. "And a good listener."

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked looking from me to mom. "He could tell certain things about the body just by looking at it or one of the bugs then followed up with a survey of the surrounding patch of ground. Everyone was duly impressed."

"They were not."

"Yes, Gil, they were," he said gazing at me.

"They are all experienced CSI's."

"I heard them talking. 'Oh, my God, that's Grissom.' 'Do you think he'd sign his book for me?' 'I'm so glad we get to work with him' 'Boy, is he cute'." He smiled at me then and I just chuckled. "You know, Annie, I'm surprised your boy here doesn't have a swelled head with all of that adoration going around."

"Well, when he was younger . . ." mom started just as the phone rang (thank, God!).

"I'll get it," I nearly yelled jumping up to grab the receiver. "Grissom residence."

"I bet you answered the phone like that when you were a kid," came Catherine's voice bringing a smile to me.

"Mom trained me early," I admitted.

"Well, she did a good job."

"Yeah. Um, I've been meaning to call."

"Oh, but you've been _way_ too busy saving L.A. from murderers and rapists."

I frowned. "How . . ?"

"There you were plain as day, standing behind the L_A_PD Sheriff being praised by said Sheriff for the work you did to capture Jeremy Roberts."

"Oh," I replied my frown quickly fading. "You saw that, huh?"

"Oh, everyone saw it."

"Everyone?"

"Even Sara."

Oh, boy. "I hadn't meant to work it. Conway . . . He sort of dumped me in the middle of everything and once I got involved there was no turning back."

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that you got the _L__A__PD_ a save on our loss."

"They were mad, huh?"

"They were pissed. As Ecklie put it 'if he can work he should be doing his own job not someone else's'."

"Sorry, Catherine."

"Don't be. As long as the bastard's off the street, that's fine with me."

Now I'm puzzled. "So you're calling because?"

I can hear her sigh. "Don't shoot the messenger, Gil. Ecklie is _demanding _you come home."

"Demanding?" I repeat with raised brows.

"Yes, as in if he can work . . ."

"I got that. And if I don't?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll be the new night shift supervisor."

"Oh." Hmm. That didn't bother me as much as I thought it would.

"I told him to call you himself. I don't get paid for stuff like that, tracking down and hauling back wayward CSI's. The ensuing argument echoed clear to Jim's office. It made me smile. I haven't smiled like that since you left."

I chuckled. "Well, I do what I can."

"There's the Grissom I remember. It's so nice to hear you again."

"It's nice to be heard."

She laughed that time and I let myself grin. "You sound good, Gil. Better than good."

"I'm doing much better, Catherine. Putting Roberts away gave me an indefinable something that seems to have brightened my outlook on things. Go figure."

"You . . . You're a kick, Gil," she laughed. "God, I've missed you around here. I never thought I'd miss your weird sense of humor."

"I was being serious."

"I know. That's what I miss." She was still laughing. Well, I made her day somehow so I decided to just 'roll with it'. "I'm sorry, but that felt good. Of course, I'm on a double."

"Well, that could explain everything," I said, wanting to ask her why she's working a double and proud of myself when I didn't. There's nothing I can do this far away.

"So, any decisions on when you'll be coming home?" she finally asked and I shook my head.

"Nothing definite. I've a couple of appointments I can't miss so don't want to get roped into something I can't get out of. And now that I know Ecklie's more pissed at me than normal my 1-2 weeks just became 3-4."

"Appointments? Sounds serious."

"I'm not job hunting if that's what you mean. I promised someone I'd be here for his birthday and I won't break that promise."

"Pray tell, was it the little boy holding your hand?"

"Yeah. He lost his sister way too soon and I can understand his loss. He's like a 'mini me'," I said. Her laugh came back full bore. "I'm being serious again."

"I know," she barely managed.

"I'm so happy to brighten your day, Catherine," I said sarcastically.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not. I won't leave him hanging. If that costs me my job then so be it." I could hear a deep breath being taken at my stern tone and knew she was trying to compose herself. She was tired. I gave her some slack. "Tell Ecklie I'll be back in a month. If he insists I come back sooner, I'll Email him my resignation and HR my complaint that my open-ended administrative leave has been terminated without direct contact from my superior. I've already been offered a permanent consulting job here and I've a mountain of other projects waiting in the wings that'll keep me busy and working at my own pace."

"A consulting job?"

"Yeah. Conway wants me here."

"And you're thinking about it?" She seemed unnerved by that.

"I might. I don't know. I just know that while I've been here, and not responsible for a shift, I found out how much I missed working a case, being hands on from start to finish. You know paperwork and I don't get along."

"I know. And, since you've been gone, I understand your pain."

"I would say I'm sorry, Catherine, but . . ."

"You're not and that's perfectly fine. You're learning to enjoy life again and that pleases me more than anything."

"I can't change what happened in the store, Catherine, and I'm not sure I want to. That event has led to new friends and a new learning about myself and how far I'm willing to go to get back my life. It's been an interesting time away."

"You're like a Phoenix rising from the ashes."

"An appropriate metaphor since it does feel like I died a little through all of this. But each day has taught me something new, about how I'm stronger than I thought I was. And, well, I've even shocked myself."

"How?"

"I've . . . well, I've been Emailing Sara."

"Really? That's good right?"

"It's early yet," is all I was willing to say not knowing myself if anything would come of it.

"I wondered why she was smiling over that homeless man split in two by a train." That made me feel good somehow. "You are a man of many surprises, Gil Grissom."

"I actually prefer man of mystery."

"Oh, God, Ecklie would love that," she laughed.

"You know what? Tell him to call me directly next time. No more going through you or anyone else. A threat of the media should get him on the phone. And if he doesn't have the balls to talk to me directly, then tell him to go suck eggs."

"Owee! I can't wait to deliver that bit of news. I'll make sure one of the guys is nearby to catch Ecklie's mouth in a photo before it hits the floor."

"I want a copy."

"Will do. Well, my job here is finished. I called, you responded. We'll see what crap this stirs up and I'll be smiling all the way through it. Thanks for cheering me up."

"I do what I can."

"Keep in touch."

"I will."

And the photos _were_ priceless. I believe gobsmacked is a better word than flummoxed to describe the look on Ecklie's face. I waited and never received a call from him. That still makes me smile. And, the fact that Jim took the photo (with Nick and Sara hiding in the shadows taking their own) right in front of him . . . well, it did my heart good.

_ Mew, mew. _

"Oh, sorry. Lost in my musings again. You should be used to it by now," I say to the kids as we move out of the kitchen and down the hall. "Let me introduce you to our other roommates," I inform them pushing open the door to my small office.

Turning on the light, I open my mouth to say hello then stop dead. The shelves are empty! What the . . . But then the bright yellow Post-it notes come into view and I hastily grab them, my worry quickly vanishing at what's written.

_ 'I'm staying at the office until you come home, Arthur.'_

_ 'We're going home with Greg. Don't worry, he'll keep us in shape. The Roaches.'_

"The Roaches'? They have names," I mumble biting at my bottom lip.

And then I remember. Catherine told me Nick and Greg were looking after my bugs so I wouldn't come home to 'bug legs in the air' I think she said. I'd smile at their thoughtfulness except I'm betting neither of them know how to take care of them and bug legs reaching for heaven will probably be the outcome anyway. Of course, they're both smart. And, since they're back on speaking terms with Sara, they probably went to her for advice.

Oh, I'm smiling again. _I'm_ on speaking terms with Sara.

Sara.

I'm sure . . . I'm nearly, well, kind of sure it will be good to see her again. Ah, hell, I don't know if it'll be good or not. Emails and phone calls are so very different than being in the same room having to face each other without the shield of anonymity distance provides; the ability to 'drop the phone' and disconnect the person on the other end. I've done that to the Sheriff and Ecklie. I don't know if I could do it to Sara.

And that first phone call . . . Man, oh, man, I thought I was going to puke I was so nervous, my inability to speak going live the moment I heard her voice on the other end. It turned out to be her voicemail and I had a momentary flash of all those messages I'd left for her when she ran away, those messages she didn't return, and suddenly thought it was a bad idea so hung up, not wanting to go through that again.

I even decided to sleep on it, which was a mistake since dreams left me bereft of rest. It's very bizarre to be sitting in a room watching two halves of yourself yelling at each other – one side to continue, the other to stop. Then my heart popped up, complete with stitching and zippers, and flashed me a card saying it was time to extend my warranty if I was going to put my foot in love's water again, complete with a coupon for a new upgraded model that had an on/off switch. Then Peter Parker (in a Spiderman outfit) dangled in front of me saying 'time to go fishin' for love' before zipping up his web and out of sight.

And then Sara herself appeared, quiet and unassuming, looking like she did when we first met, pigtail and all, and I found I could shut out the arguing halves of me and signed on the dotted line to extend my heart's warranty just before taking her in my arms, bending her backward and . . . waking up kissing my pillow. It would've all been fine except I could feel three pairs of eyes staring at me. Slowly turning, Hank and the kids had their heads tilted in the same direction and I couldn't help but laugh then kissed them silly until I was thumped and pushed and licked within an inch of my life. It's good to have furry friends.

I remembered my internal conversation about being reckless when I was trying to send her one of my first Emails (Emails which had lengthened greatly since that time) and found I wasn't. But I'd signed that warranty card. Dream or not, I'd signed it and that had to mean something. So I picked up the phone again and got her one ring in. I don't even remember what I said. (Probably something profound like 'hey'.) I believe I stammered some and, no doubt, coughed, but the rest is a blur. (Although there is some stray memory of pie.)

All I really remember is how good she sounded to my ears. Her voice nestled into the open space she'd once occupied like she'd never left and I could feel my heart twitching a bit, as if reawakening to what was. But there was disquiet as well, brought on by vivid memories of before. I couldn't blame its hesitation. These were treacherous waters I was launching us into with only a soggy raft to keep us afloat.

But, I found a willingness to try and it must've worked because she called at the appointed time the next night and I followed up a day later and so it continued, each conversation becoming easier as we moved along. Mostly we chatted about work but there were questions about mom and Hank and the kids, photos of which were flying her way every time they did something cute. (All the time.) It was all very . . . pleasant and chaste and unsullied by talk of feelings and relationships and what comes next. I was too afraid to touch those particular topics and, I guessed, so was she. And I didn't feel that our lack of depth was anything but good. For me, shallow worked at this point. It let me dip my toe in and proceed at my own pace, something she was obviously willing to let me do.

Paul told me, what seems like ages ago, that I was in the cat bird's seat in terms of where I wanted things to go with Sara. I didn't understand what he was talking about then but now realize the power I have at my fingertips. With one word Sara would come flying to me or leave forever. I never wanted that kind of power, the same power she had over me. I want her with me because she _wants_ to be not because I ask her to. I don't . . . .

I _want_ her to be with me. I want. I do want that, Sara with me. I can admit now that I've always wanted that since we laid together in the hospital but I couldn't let myself fall. Not then anyway. But now? Now is different; I'm different. Maybe Sara's different, too. But there are other things to think on. What of everyone else? All those people I've known for years who know what happened firsthand. L.A. spoiled me. I'm never going to get that kind of treatment from our Sheriff or Ecklie or Cavallo and, before . . . before I never wanted it, but now . . .

I never needed a pat on the back or a hearty congratulations. It was the job I loved doing and my reward was in solving a puzzle. But I demanded respect. Question me, deny me, but never disrespect me or how I do my job. And Ecklie's been doing that for years along with sheriff after sheriff. I'm not politic and that does me in every time and I don't think much will change when I go back. In fact, it might even be worse so have to remind myself that I have a stack of articles to write and seminars to give and a consulting job in L.A. if I want it. And I have Catherine who'll make a fine supervisor. I am stunned how much power that seemed to give me once I recognized that.

_Mew, mew, mew._

I smile down at them. "Our roommates appear to be out so you'll meet them later," I apologize and head back out into the hall watching the kids take in everything.

It makes me think on how a moment came and went when I thought about leaving them with mom and was startled at the feelings that brought up. They are my kids. I saved them, kept them alive, loved them, told them my fears and shared my happiness. I couldn't leave them behind. Hank would be beside himself and so would !. They were closer to me than most people with the exception of mom, the Fab Four, Paul and, of course, Catherine and Jim. They deserve to be with us. They deserve to share my life, and possibly . . . I take a deep breath and complete the thought - possibly Sara.

I shake my head and return my wayward attention to the guest room where the kids take a keen interest – no doubt at all the boxes piled high, a veritable heaven with which to get lost in. Then we finally end up in the master bedroom where I come to a sudden stop at the door, the day I left sweeping through me again, forcing me to lean against the door frame.

She's still here. I can feel her. I'll always feel her here and that doesn't discomfit me as I thought it would. Interesting that a few short conversations with Philip Kane has brought me to this calm acceptance. Odd really, especially knowing myself and how I cling to things I probably shouldn't. Yes, I've learned so many things in my time away.

_MEW, MEW!_

"Oh, yelling now are we," I say, sticking my fingers through the wire door to let them rub and nibble. "I know you want to explore but I've got to kid-proof the house before that happens so sit tight and let me get your box and toys." I cast a look around. "I don't think you can hurt yourselves too badly in here but I've been wrong before." A quick flash of both of them getting trapped behind the old couch in mom's den fills me and I scratch at my chin. "Stay put for a bit longer. I'll be right back. Hank! Come watch the kids!" I call and in he bounds taking up residence next to the bed where they can see him. I shouldn't laugh but I do. Hank takes his responsibility as big brother very seriously. "I'll be right back."

I've got to unload the car, do some laundry, and call Philip to make an appointment. I need to use these eight days before the end of the month wisely if I'm to get back into the swing of things. I open the door onto a 90 degree breeze and, for a long second, wish I was back at the beach.

**Sara**

His name is Simon Remington. I found that out before the end of shift that first night I saw Gil holding his hand. I hesitantly asked about him on our fourth phone call and was rewarded with a voice that smiled as he recounted their trip to see the butterflies. It was a joy to listen to, his enthusiasm shining through over his newfound friend. I'm so very thankful to hear that I didn't destroy everything I love about him.

We've been speaking almost every day and, each day it gets easier reminding me of how it used to be. I always let him lead the conversation unless he's stumped. I can't appear pushy. I promised never to do that if and when he managed to put behind him everything I did. Mostly we talk about work or Hank or the kids. We've not touched upon anything outside of how we are which is fine because anything beyond that could be dangerous at this point. Annie's Emails (via Jim) assure me that Gil looks forward to these calls, more with each one and says he always has a pleased look on his face once he hangs up.

And that's all I need right now, that little spark of a chance that, sometime in the future, we might actually work together again which may then lead to a combined venture like . . . well, like lunch or something. Or maybe breakfast at the Sunrise Café – the place it all started.

I was getting better at not flying from the room each time Gil Emailed me drawing odd looks all around. I'd found a dignified pace to sprint into my hiding place (the evidence room) to read and reply. So imagine my surprise when my phone rang and I picked it up (without looking at the screen) only to hear a very hesitant 'hey' on the other end. My eyes bugged out and I stiffened so badly I nearly toppled over when I tripped on a box sitting on the floor and only managed to keep myself upright when I fell into a stack of very heavy boxes. Thank God I wasn't on scene or I'd've had Nick or Greg or Warrick making fun of me the entire next shift and the one after that.

"Hey," I said back, hastily sitting on the edge of that box since my legs were having a hard time holding me up.

"Hey," he repeated as he coughed. "I-I thought I'd, you know, call and say, well, say hey."

I found myself grinning. This was so reminiscent of when I first met Gil in San Francisco, memories flooding me at his honorable behavior and the fact that when we went for walks he always kept hands in his pockets and started so the first time I took his arm. He would blush at the drop of a hat and fall over his words unless we were talking bugs or crime scenes or any number of other things that had nothing to do with us. I was smitten and found out, much later, so was he. And, now, here was that man again.

"I'm glad you did. It's good to hear your voice."

"Yours, too. Um," he stammered. "Ah, how's work?"

"I know I shouldn't say this out loud but it's been rather quiet," I stage whispered. "And we both know that can't be good."

"No."

I waited for more but nothing came so I jumped in. "At least we haven't exceeded the record of six different scenes in six different counties," I tossed in knowing he'd remember that night.

"I think they do that to mess with our heads."

I laughed and reveled in the chuckle I heard on his end. It was like coming home. "They should be careful who they mess with," I said. "You know how Jim gets."

"Yes, I do. How is he?"

"Ornery as ever. Managed to get himself covered in pie while taking down a perp at the Marie Callendar's on Sahara."

"Was it thrown at him or . . ."

"Oh, he grabbed the guy from behind and plowed right into a rack of cream pies which happened to be right next to the razzleberry pies. He was a lovely shade of purple by the time I showed up."

"You laughed didn't you?"

"It was more of a snort I'd say."

"Is he talking to you yet?"

"Actually, yeah, but I know he's going to deck Greg pretty soon if he hears one more reference to whipped cream, berries and pie tins, oh my!"

His chuckle was more like a laugh then and I beamed. "I'll have to call him and throw in some pointers about how to eat pie properly."

"Boy, you like taking risks."

"I'm 300 miles away. What can he do?"

"I know he's been trying to figure out how to reach through the phone and pop Ecklie for the last year. No telling what strides he's made," I reminded him.

"Ah, I'd forgotten about that. Maybe I'll keep it to myself. Oh, hold on a minute." I heard a click and waited, a happy tune springing through my head like my own musak. "Sara, I have to go."

"Oh, okay. It was really great to hear from you."

"I enjoyed it as well."

"May I . . . May I call you tomorrow?" There was a deep silence on the other end. Shit. "You're probably busy. I'll . . ."

"Tomorrow would be fine. I should be home by noon."

"Okay, then," I smiled almost adding 'it's a date' which would've been bad.

"Okay. Well, ah, goodbye."

"Bye."

We hung up together and I couldn't stop myself from leaping off that box and doing a happy dance in the evidence room. I've never been happier about a conversation in my life. He called me. He called me and spoke to me. He spoke to me like we were friends. Like we were friends.

Tears fell then and I didn't stop them.

I haven't cried on any of the other calls - just the first one - and I think I've passed some sort of test. Not Gil's, my own, of not being pushy, of letting the conversations flow. He's told me about Peter Parker and all of Conway's team; he's told me about Paul and the Fab Four; he's told me how he saved the kids. But he hasn't told me how he hurt his hand. A simple 'I tripped over my own two feet and fell against the wall' is so far from the truth it isn't funny but I won't ask because I have a feeling it might be related to me somehow and, at this point, bad memories are not welcome.

I'm having breakfast with Jim today. I hope he has some news. Gil was planning on coming home this week but he didn't know when. I found myself picking up things for him at the grocery to fill his fridge then put them back. I gave back my key and there's no way I'm going to ask Catherine for hers. I wonder if I'll ever be asked back to his home.

A girl can dream you know.

* * *

_Zuul is a Ghostbuster reference. (It was in Signourney Weaver's fridge); Philip Kane was introduced as the LVPD psychologist in the S1 episodes "Face Lift" (1x16) and "Gentle, Gentle" (1x18)_

* * *

_Well, there you have it - the first part toward what we all want - resolution. I hope you enjoyed this little bit of quiet where they are slowly taking steps (itsy-bitsy steps) towards each other. If you've been with me through this whole thing you know that big steps are few and far between. Remember, I take any any all suggestions and love reviews. Happy Mother's day to all! Thanks! :-D  
_


	27. Chapter 27

_Howdy, folks! Well, I wrestled with this part - started it over 4 times and changed the speakers 3 times until I finally settled on this group. This is a quiet part with more insight (I hope anyway) into Grissom and some humor. I hope you like it._**  
**

_Thanks as always to my reviewers who buoy me along this long and arduous journey - TessTrueHeart, was spratlurid quinby, SevernSound, sgrfran, spottedhorse, Hithui, Notinyourlifetimehoney (a newbie!) and, as always, Nancy1. You guys are the best!  
_

_Onward ~  
_

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**Part 27**

**Brass **

I never knew what a pushover I was. It just never occurred to me being that I'm tough and brawny and a cop that's known for not taking much crap. Not that I don't have my softer side. And I suppose I was a pushover when I was first married before it all turned into a horrible pile of shit. And I was when Ellie was small, too, when she still spoke to me that is. But after that (the divorce) the pushover part of me got up and left and I haven't seen it until today.

And it all started out so benevolently which, it seems, is always the case for the poor schlub who gets pushed.

There I was, minding my own business as I sat at my desk, when an Email popped up. It was from Annie informing me that Gil was coming home. It went on to explain how he was doing, that he'd been in contact with Philip Kane and Sara. (I already knew the Sara part via Catherine.) But, what I didn't know was _he'd_ called her as well. Wow! That seemed pretty quick for ol' Gil but then traumatic events can change a person. As I thought about it, Sara _had_ seemed brighter for want of a better word. More relaxed. I remember hearing her laugh just the other day and thought how nice it was to hear that again. Now it was even nicer knowing why the change had occurred.

Gil was coming home.

In truth I found myself smiling as well. It made _me_ feel better that he'd be here where I could make it up to him, you know, try to be a better friend and not worry so much about stepping on his toes. That still hurt, my lack of attention to what was happening. No, not attention. I knew what was happening I just didn't want to hurt his feelings. You see where that got me. Well, no more. If he starts going haywire again I'm hogtying him and dragging him off to Philip, plunking him down in a chair and forcing him to talk even if we have to sit there for days. And I know how stubborn Gil can be. Well, meet the wall, buddy. I can out stubborn stubborn. Yeah. That's my plan anyway.

Ah, back to the pushover part. Well, after I received Annie's Email I needed to tell someone he was coming home and the first person I ran into was Catherine. She knew by my shit-eating grin that something was up and wouldn't let go of me until I told her. Truthfully, it didn't take much poking for me to spill. (I kept quiet on the 'talking to Sara' part.)

Telling Catherine, well, that was the beginning of my fall.

Aside from putting a cop on Gil's house to let us know when he actually arrived, I had no suggestions other than driving by his place every morning when I got off shift. Catherine (she must have a network of people everywhere) knew almost to the millisecond when he stepped in his house and already had a plan in motion which I tried to curtail. 'Give him time to settle in', 'You can't just show up', 'Let's call first' to which I only received a glare. She had questions, you see, and she wanted them answered NOW! And therein lies my problem. I wanted answers, too, hence the pushover part. She grinned, waved goodbye and told me _when_ she'd pick me up. I barely had time to formulate a thought let alone a response. She does that on purpose, you know.

So that's the backstory for why we're now standing on Gil's front porch ringing the doorbell, 12 hours later (not the requisite 24 which would've been civilized) and not at a decent hour like 10:00am or 1:00pm. No. It had to be 6:30am. (Just because it's the almost end of the day for us doesn't mean regular people aren't still in bed.) His car's here but he's not answering which would lead me to believe he's like those regular people - still in bed. But before I can haul Catherine away, I hear the jingling of keys, watch her disappear through his now open door and find myself, open mouthed and in full view of any neighbor who might be wondering who's making all the racket this early in the morning and calling the police, alone on his doorstep. Again I don't know why I'm surprised. This _is_ Catherine after all. Hastily, I follow her inside and quietly shut the door, spying Hank barking at the patio door eager to be let in. Other than that, I hear nothing else.

"Gil?" she calls. We wait. Still nothing. "Gil?"

A muffled curse wafts into the room along with the sound of something falling. My gun is in my hand and I'm moving across the floor before she can take another breath. I slide to a stop in the doorway to Gil's spare bedroom, pointing at the bare backside of an individual half under the bed and very nearly buried in boxes.

"Police. Hold it right there," I shout, body tense and waiting. What's this creep done with Gil?

"Jim?" comes a muffled but very familiar voice and I quickly glance at Catherine standing behind me.

"Gil?" she asks stepping forward slightly.

"Ah, Christ," comes next and I slowly relax then reholster my weapon, noticing Catherine's smile.

"Well, here's a sight I've always wanted to see," she says around a lascivious smile.

"Really?" I answer back. "'cause that's something I _never_ wanted to see, ever."

"Jim, get Catherine out of here, please," he begs and I look at her, watching as she drops to her knees and scoots up close to the bed, peering underneath.

"Do you, ah, need any help?" she asks and I can hear him groan. Poor guy.

"I'm stuck," is all he says as if that explains it all. Maybe it would if he wasn't naked.

"Care to elaborate?" she pushes and Gil sighs.

"I was coming in from the laundry to the shower when I noticed the door to this room was open. Before I closed it I heard the kids. This was the last place I wanted them. I must not have closed it tightly last night."

"So you waltz around your place naked?" is what she asks and I put a hand over my mouth to keep in the short bark of laughter that is just dying to pop out. A heavy pause fills the air.

"Your choice of words should answer that question," is all he says on the matter and I grin. This _is_ his place.

"So you're on the floor because?" I quickly interject before Catherine can come up with some other inappropriate question.

"I heard the kids under the bed and squeezed in to find them up in the box springs. When I reached in to get them my cast snagged on something and with all my jiggling around I managed to spill a number of boxes all over me and the bed and I was wondering how long I'd be here until one of you found my desiccated body."

Well, that was to the point. "You're lucky Catherine couldn't wait the requisite 24 hours before pounding on your door," I add, leaning against the wall.

"I'm surprised it took her this long."

"You know," she began, "we can always leave."

"But you won't," Gil said.

I should probably step in. "Let's get you unburied, my friend," I say pulling off the boxes laying across him and nod toward Catherine to do the same. Reluctantly, she does her duty, stuffing items back into the opened boxes and stacking them to the side.

"Thanks," Gil says. "Can one of you get me something to cover up with then go get Hank please?"

"Because?" Catherine asked. I hear another sigh.

"He's very good with them," is the only explanation I believe we're going to get. Catherine doesn't move so I figure I'm elected.

"I'll get him," I say hot-footing it to the patio door, Hank giving me a quick nudge as he slides by, his nails making a distinctive clicking sound as he moves down the hall.

"Hank, come get the kids," I hear as I re-enter the room, watching the boxer immediately wiggle in next to him. _Chuff,_ _mew-mew_ rises from beneath the bed as Hank starts backing out. "So, you couldn't do that for me?" I hear Gil say as two dusty kittens come into view.

I've only seen them in Annie's photos and they are the cutest things - winding around Hank's front paws and pushing against his chin just before turning their sights on me. I'm so busy cuddling these two fluffs of fur that I don't notice Catherine has now disappeared under the bed until all I can see are her legs next to Gil's. I do hear an 'ouch' or two, a 'stop moving so much', then a sharp intake of breath and, finally, 'ta-da' coming from her as she hastily backs out and rises to her feet.

"I'll get you something to cover up with," she says moving down the hall, peals of laughter echoing back as she goes, returning quickly with a tattered old robe and tossing it across his backside. "I thought this might work better."

"Thanks," Gil says then doesn't move while the both of us just stand there. "If you don't mind."

"Oh, yeah," I say. "We should, ah, probably wait in the living room."

"Ya think?" comes at us and I drag Catherine out of the room, both of us exploding into laughter as we plop down on the couch, Catherine taking hold of one of the kids and accepting the rough tongue on her cheek as Hank flops down near us watching the hallway.

"You do know we're in a lot of trouble don't you?" I ask Catherine.

"Yeah, but at least he's here to get mad at us."

She's got a good point there.

**Grissom**

I'm pretty sure I'm red from head to toe. Yep, I am.

I lean on the bathroom sink and shake my head. Catherine. This has the earmarks of her bravado all over it and it wouldn't've been so bad if at least I'd had pants on. I don't normally walk around my house in the nude. It was a quick jaunt from the laundry to the shower and . . . I sigh, then begin to chuckle which turns into a laugh and I have to sit down on the toilet. Timing is everything. I'm embarrassed but it didn't kill me and Sara's told me more than once I've got a nice ass.

That thought stops my laughter but leaves behind a soft smile as I remember it was right here where she informed me quite sincerely that she'd like to have her hands surgically attached to it. The idea had its merits except for when I had to walk. She, of course, showed me how we didn't have to walk anywhere to keep smiles on our faces and her hands right where she liked them.

Briskly rubbing my face, I decide that whatever brought Jim and Catherine unannounced to my door will surely pale in comparison to the fact that I've just mooned them so push myself up, wash the dust from my face and hands (and everywhere else), and head out to toss on my sweats and a Harry Potter sweatshirt. Stepping into the hall, I hear 'oogy-oogy' noises coming from the both of them and know the kids have wrapped them about their paws already (it didn't long for that to happen to me either) and it puts me at ease. Their manner suggests this is a courtesy call and nothing else. That suits me just fine. Putting on a slightly miffed face, I saunter into the living room with as much dignity as I can muster then move past them to slip into the kitchen. Tea sounds good right about now.

"Just so you know," Jim begins as he sits down at the table behind me, "I prefer you covered up."

"Speak for yourself," comes from Catherine as she strolls over, the kids and Hank following after her as she takes a seat next to Jim.

"Tea anyone?" I ask pulling my favorite 'I've gone buggy' mug off its hook then drop in a teabag and pop my mug into the microwave. I don't really want to wait for water to boil. Two no thank you's come my way. "I'm afraid I've nothing else to offer. My cupboards are bare." I eye Catherine. "Thanks for making my house stink free."

She grins. "It was the least I could do. There's nothing worse than walking into your own private decomp."

"Personal experience?" Jim asks.

"I have a teenager."

"Ah."

I can't help but grin. This is all so easy, all so familiar, and it's comfortable. I used to worry about feeling that way knowing the other shoe was bound to drop but, after everything that's happened, well, having a conversation with two people I know is as comfy as this old sweatshirt I'm wearing. Even if they have things to say I don't want to hear, I've stared down the barrel of a gun; put my hand through a wall and into a bad guy's face; I've even exposed myself (however unintentionally). I can take it.

"You all right there, Gil?" Jim asks of me.

I glance over my shoulder then turn back to the microwave, carefully removing my mug. That is such a loaded question but these two deserve an honest answer.

"Yeah, I am," I finally say sitting across from them, staring into my tea. "It's amazing what happens when you begin to understand that people around you, who stay around you through thick and thin, are there for a reason." I look up and glance at both of them. "Thank you for being there when I finally chose to reach out. Neither of you will ever know what that meant to me, what it still means to me. And, even though I've just said how wonderful the both of you are, I know Catherine won't be able to keep herself from telling everyone about what a nice ass I have."

"Well, yeah!" she exclaims followed by a deep laugh that makes me smile as Jim shakes his head.

"She didn't take any photos, Gil. I made sure of it."

"Thank you for that," I say with great relief.

"Don't need a photo," she says, tapping her head. "Got it all here and you know how well I describe things."

"Good Lord, I'm doomed," I say feigning fear making them laugh. I find myself laughing right along with them.

**Catherine**

He sounds good and looks great. (And I'm not talking about his nice ass. Although . . .) Rested. He looks rested and tan. That pinched look he carried before the store is gone making him appear younger and at peace. What a far better place for him to be.

And me. It's a better place for me, too, because he scared me. When I saw him on the floor of that store, no color in his face, flat on his back, I thought he was dead and, in that instant, my heart caved in on itself. It hit me so hard I nearly fell over that I should've tried harder to break through the wall he'd created when Sara left. I knew then, if I didn't know already, that I was partially responsible for everything because I'd backed off, not wanting to lose his friendship by being my usual loud-mouthed self. And that was something I wasn't willing to give up. I've met a lot of people in my life, been friends with many more, but I've never known anyone like Gil Grissom and I never want to _not_ know him.

So when he called me, well, I can't really explain how that felt. Grateful, I guess. Yeah, grateful that I was there when he needed me; thankful he felt comfortable enough to place those calls; honored that he shared with me a little part of himself. I was like a life raft or touchstone or something and I took, and take, that responsibility to heart. Gil's been my friend forever; he led me into the world of CSI; he saved me from Eddie's temper; he's closer to Lindsey than I am sometimes. I need him in my life even if it's just to pass by his office and see his head buried in work or staring off into space thinking on whatever jumbles up that genius brain of his.

And now I simply have to grab his hand and hold on, make sure that he's really here before me. I want to say so much but don't know where to start which is not me. Hell, I barged into his house, stared at his naked ass then laughed myself silly. I should be able to say something profound, you know, weighty in its intensity or Hallmark-ish but all I can come up with is the truth. I'm going with it anyway.

"Gil, I love you. I always have. It broke my heart that I couldn't help but when you called . . . it made me feel better. I know. Selfish."

"No," he says, squeezing my hand. "Not selfish, Catherine, a friend which was something I needed but couldn't see. Not then anyway."

I smile and nod. "I can see by the looks of you that your time away has done you a world of good. I think it was all that fishing."

"Actually it was the guys attached to the fishing," Gil admits glancing at the both of us. "I almost bolted that first day Paul Jeffries sprung the guys on me. I hadn't gone to California to make friends. I'd gone to gather all my pieces together and glue them back into some kind of cohesive whole. But I'm glad I didn't run. They became the steadying force in my search for balance." He smiles a bit. "I even contemplated buying my own fishing boat and chartering trips."

"You're kidding?" Jim asks.

"Nope. Fortunately, mom talked me out of it."

"I'll have to thank her for that," I say.

"Seemed logical at the time. Should've been a clue."

"And your cast?" Jim asks. "Nice color."

"Yeah," he says smoothing out a spider decal that insists upon peeling up. "Had a close encounter with Jeremy Roberts."

"What?" I ask watching him give out a small shrug then spread his hands out in a helpless gesture.

"He came at me. I punched him."

"You . . . You punched him?" Jim asks baffled beyond belief. _"You?"_

Gil nods then sighs. "Yeah." He starts to grin before looking at each of us. "Felt good."

Jim chuckles. "I bet it did."

"There must've been people who saw you," I begin. "Roberts didn't press charges?"

"He tried," Gil says scratching at his beard. "But, apparently, no one saw anything except Roberts running into a door when he tried to escape. I felt guilty about that . . ."

"Why?" I interrupt. "Roberts killed two women that we know of. He caused all the problems with you and Sara. I don't . . ." I slow to a stop when Gil grabs my hand and smiles at me.

"I _felt_ guilty for about the time it took me to realize that it was over and I'd gladly go to jail for breaking his nose."

"You broke his nose?" Jim asks.

He nods. "And part of his cheekbone. It was all courtesy of the cast I was wearing at the time."

"You had another cast?" I ask.

Gil looks a bit uncomfortable then nods. "I'm on my third and, hopefully, my last."

The look he sends me that literally begs no more questions about that forces me to find some control deep down inside to keep my mouth shut on the subject. Normally, that doesn't stop me but this was his first day back. I'd find out some other way.

"He's already had his preliminary trial and I don't have to go back until next month just in time for Simon's graduation, class party, whatever they call it when you move to the third grade."

"The little boy at the press conference?" Jim asks and Gil nods.

"Your 'mini-me'?" I add just to see him blush. He doesn't fail me.

**Grissom**

I knew I shouldn't've told her that but it slipped out and I'm sure I'll hear it from now until the end of the world. It's like listening to all the tall tales the Fab Four spout every time we go fishing; those epic sagas like Todd's story of the shark that jumped into his boat, stole his beer and slipped back into the sea. We nod our heads in belief then make fun of him the rest of the day and that never stops him from bringing it up every time we see a shark. Catherine isn't any different. So I wait for more 'mini-me' jokes, but she surprises me with just a smile and nothing else. I decide to hop in before she changes her mind.

"Simon is a very resilient little boy," I continue. "I admire him; admire his ability to move on even though he's lost his best friend." I smile. "We had a number of interesting conversations over ice cream."

"How old is he?" Jim asks.

"He turned seven while I was there. I was his guest of honor."

My smile grows wider at the memory of him introducing me to his friends only to have them surround me with questions about Arthur. It pleased me to no end and Simon as well. He had a silly smile on his face all afternoon.

"I was the hit of the party."

'You?" Catherine says with a slight laugh that stops at the look I give her. "You always hide in the corner or don't show up at all. Why wouldn't I laugh?"

"Kids are a lot easier to talk to," Jim answers for me.

"Especially these kids," I add. "They're all like Simon, even the girls. I had to be quick on my feet and ended up dazzling them with my wit and, of course, stories about Arthur."

"Your spider?" Catherine asks.

I nod. Why deny it? Arthur is a superstar. "Go with what you have," I say with a shrug.

"So what are your plans now that you're back?" Jim asks, my eyes moving to him as I sip my tea.

"Well, let's see," I begin placing the mug back on the table. "I have to go grocery shopping, get the car washed and figure out how to take Hank for a walk all without leaving the house and . . ."

"I meant about work."

I stop my rambling and look up. He has a, well it looks like his worried face on. I frown but keep going. "Oh. Well, I've an appointment with Philip Kane tomorrow. He's doing me a great favor by coming here instead of me having to go to his office."

I grin a bit then stop as his worried face gets worse. I've become quite a connoisseur of this particular expression since I've seen a lot of it these past few months so my frown deepens.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jim fusses a bit before giving me a pained sort of smile. "I thought . . . Well, you seemed . . . Never mind," he finally ends waving his hand as if to dismiss all of whatever that was. It just piques my interest.

"You thought what?" I've seen Jim hem and haw before and it's usually when he's about to say something I don't want to hear, but this was ridiculous. "Jim?" Now, _I'm_ worried. He's biting his thumbnail!

"Well . . ." comes a slow drawl as if he's fighting with himself not to say too much or anything at all. I wait and take a big gulp of tea hoping it stays down now that my stomach is gurgling like mad. Even Catherine is looking funny at him.

"I just thought that you'd already been working things through with your mom and everything and . . ." He clears his throat then. "You know, getting back on the horse and all."

Okay, now I'm worried and confused and turn to Catherine for some clarification. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

"He wants to know about Sara," she blurts out. My eyes widen and travel back to Jim who sends daggers toward Catherine.

"No, that's not it. Sara is _his_ business not mine or yours," he adds.

"Then what?" she asks.

Now he's rubbing his chin so hard I think it might fall off just before pushing back from the table and sitting ramrod straight.

"You . . . you're talking about Philip and work and staying in the house."

"And?" I ask trying to decipher the core of what he's getting at.

"Staying in the house."

"Ah," Catherine says turning toward me. "He's worried you're becoming a hermit."

I glance back at Jim.

"Kinda," he quietly admits.

I can't keep the incredulity off my face. "Where'd you get that from?"

He holds up his hands then drops them back to the table. "Well, Philip is coming _here_. You want to walk Hank _at home_. How can you work if you're _at home_ . . ." His voice trails off and I begin to laugh. I can't help it. "It's not funny."

"It is actually," I say between breaths.

"He's laughing at me," Jim says to Catherine.

She shrugs. "At least he's laughing."

Jim nods and I attempt to stop my giggles. I don't want to piss him off. I better explain.

"I can't leave the house because of the kids."

"The kids?" they both say.

"We just got home, their _new_ home. There are so many places where they can get into trouble. Look at what just happened," I say pointing down the hall. "No telling where they'll end up if I leave them alone for too long, at least these first few days. I need the time to find all the itty bitty holes they can crawl into and get stuck and plug them up. Hank can't always keep them safe."

I see Catherine smiling and try to ignore it. Fortunately, Jim steps in just as her mouth drops open to speak.

"So all this stuff about staying home isn't because you've become a homebody, I mean, any more than usual?"

I shake my head again. "That isn't the plan. Oh, sure, I thought I'd hide out for awhile, get my bearings again, work up the courage for a few things like walking back into work and . . . well, you know."

"Yeah," is all Jim says and looks down at his hands. Neither of us has to say her name to know whom I'm talking about.

And it suddenly occurs to me that he feels guilty, guilty about how I ended up in California. I try to catch his eye.

"I don't blame you, Jim." It takes a moment but he finally looks up. "Not for anything. It was all me."

"I could've done something, anything," he confesses.

"What exactly?"

"I don't know," he huffs. "Anything other than just sitting by. I knew you were going over the edge. I knew it and did nothing. What friend does that?" I grin. "Why are you grinning? I just confessed to being a bad friend."

"But you weren't. You aren't." He's so stubborn. A lot like me. "Jim, you got me out of the hospital and away from the press. You were there that night I called in a panic. You looked after Sara, kept her safe, when I couldn't. You were there when I needed you and that's what matters."

"But the store . . ."

"You wouldn't have been able to stop what happened. If it hadn't been the store I might've just walked in front of a car or driven off without telling anyone. I wasn't exactly in my right mind. I couldn't stay here," I admit gazing down at my empty mug. "There were too many memories, too much of everything for me to cope. I had to get away. Mom broke through. I think she was probably the only who could at that point, she and Paul. They gave me back my equilibrium. I couldn't have gotten that here." I look up quickly. "Not because of either of you, just this place, my house, work. I had to leave."

"Moms are good to run to," Catherine says.

I smile. "She knows me better than I know myself and has all those tricks up her sleeve from when I was a kid. They still work. So don't beat yourself up, okay? Okay?" I repeat when he doesn't say anything. Finally he gives me a brief nod. "What you _can _do is promise that you'll keep trying in case I go off the deep end again."

"You're not planning on doing that any time soon are you?" Catherine asks before Jim can.

I smirk and shake my head. "Not if I can help it. It's very unsettling to realize you've lost control of yourself. That's not what I do."

"Maybe you should," Jim says and we both look at him. "Once in awhile maybe you should wig out, under controlled circumstances, of course," he quickly adds. "Sort of like a litmus test on yourself to see how you're doing. It would be like a signpost for you, a signpost that says 'call Jim'. I'll always be there to help, Gil."

"I know. I knew then but just couldn't see it. Philip's coming here so I can clarify things within myself and to clear a path for me so I can go back to work . . . if I _want_ to go back to work."

"That was my next question," Catherine states and I smirk. "Flags went up when you didn't seem too concerned that I might become the new supervisor if you didn't come back."

"L.A. reminded me what it was like to work a case and not have to worry about being political," I add for Catherine's benefit. She raises a brow but doesn't comment. "I was there to find a killer not worry whether or not one of my stray comments made it on air. It allowed me to think about other options and most of them didn't include getting strapped down in a supervisory role which I never wanted anyway."

"So tell us how you really feel," Jim says with a smile and I grin.

"You know," Catherine begins, "this'll really peeve off Ecklie if you resign."

"Please," I say seeing nothing but a smiling Ecklie leaping up and down as I walk out the door.

"No, really," she replies. "Shit rolls downhill, Gil, and if you walk in tomorrow and hand in your resignation, I can guarantee you in less than five minutes the phones'll start ringing asking why Dr. Gil Grissom was forced to resign."

"But I'm not . . ."

"It won't matter. You may not have seen the original press conference when you left. They were up McKeen's ass asking why you'd been fired or when you were going to be fired and how come the Sheriff didn't get you any help. When you walk in there and tell them you're leaving you'll own the place. They'll do anything to keep you so they don't have to go through that again. You're in the catbird's seat."

I look at her, eyes narrowing as I remember Paul telling me the same thing in regard to Sara. And he'd been right so far. Was Catherine right as well? Could I get everything I wanted by handing them a letter? Of course, the question really was do I really want all that. Do I want to go back to double, triple shifts, no weekends, no time to just be? Evaluations, paperwork, counseling sessions, meetings, meetings, meetings . . . I rub my forehead and sigh. It was all so very easy in L.A. when my only responsibility was to the evidence and nothing else.

"You're eyes are crossing, Gil," Jim gives me and I blink, rubbing my entire face now before taking my mug to the sink. I turn and lean back, crossing arms at my chest to look at them. "You still have seven days."

I sigh. "Enough time to get up the gumption to walk through those doors again. You don't know how hard it was in L.A. and I didn't even know those people."

"But you did it," Catherine says with a smile.

"Yeah, I guess." I head back to the table and retake my seat fiddling with the placemat. "Until I have to make a decision I still need to go through the required sessions with Philip to prove to Sheriff Elam that I'm not a lunatic which, I'm sure, is how Ecklie rated me."

"An irrational, ineffectual, hysterical madman who should be locked up before he hurts someone," Catherine spurts out drawing our attention. "Well, that's what Ecklie said."

I bust out laughing, a good belly laugh that only increases when Jim drops his head to the table, shoulders shaking. Catherine joins in and that spurt of uncertainty that dropped over me moments before drifts away.

These two people are my friends, friends who care whether I live and breathe and are willing to put themselves on the line for me and have, no doubt, done so while I was gone. I've always known that, their willingness to help. I never really forgot it. It just . . . Somehow it got lost in the shuffle for awhile. I don't plan on having that happen again. Not ever. These people give me strength, strength that I'm holding onto and saving for whatever comes next.

And that next part . . . that next part that will probably feature a tall brunette, well, I'm pretty sure I'm going to need it.

* * *

_Ta-da! Well, there it is - a gathering of supportive friends - something Grissom needs. (Don't we all.)_

_ I hope to have more Sara in the next one. As of now it looks like it'll be in flashback mode but it's not set in stone. This last section is a wisp of feathery light ideas that have a tendency to flit away once touched so I must tread carefully. I hope you enjoy this piece and leave reviews so I know if where I'm moving is the right direction._

_Thanks and happy Father's Day out there to all of you supportive husbands and dads who deal with all of our CSI/GSR stuff. You're the best! :-D_


	28. Chapter 28

_Howdy! Happy belated 4th to all of you in the USA. Here's hoping for cooler weather to all of those back East (USA). Good luck to everyone in the upcoming Olympics and, if you haven't seen "Longmire" on A&E, try it out. It's one of the best things on TV.  
_

_This part took on a life of its own and, before I knew it, it was HUGE so I broke it up into 2 parts. A new character is here (new to the story but not CSI fans) and a bit of Sara (as promised). I hope you enjoy it.  
_

_A special thanks to my beta (thanks, mom) for sticking with me through this behemoth of a story that I find has made me work really, really hard to make it as good as I can. I'm thinking you guys like it, too, since you keep reading. (THANKS!) So, additional thanks go out to: SarahmUK (newbie!), TessTrueHeart, Otie1983, spottedhorse, sgrfan, Severnsound, NickyStokes, Notinyourlifetimehoney (love that sign on), was spratlurid quimby, Hithui, and, of course, Nancy1.  
_

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Part 28 - 7 days later**

**Grissom**

Today, the weather isn't so bad from where I'm sitting – in a little cove at Lake Mead. There are clouds on the horizon, puffy, white clouds that look innocent enough but there's no telling what they'll become once they drift over. The air is clean and brisk and the sun is shining down with less intensity than when I came home a week ago. All in all it's a very nice day.

And I feel like I should bury my head under a pillow and sleep through it.

Why? Well, that's simple. This morning was, well, it was jarring. I guess that would be the right word. Yes, it was jarring in so many ways.

This morning was my meeting with Sheriff Elam to discuss my possible reinstatement. Things went well, In fact, better than expected. It was the other thing that happened that sent the phone to my ear as soon as that meeting was over trying not to beg (but begging just the same) with Philip Kane for a session and pleased beyond measure when he agreed. Where I am now is his idea. The fishing poles are mine.

Since Catherine and Jim burst in on me seven days ago, I'd had no other option but to obsess over the idea that I now held the power to dictate what I wanted at the lab. After a pile of crumpled paper, scribbled out thoughts and erasure bits all over the table, I dropped my head to said table and tried to focus on the headache leaking out my ears. It seemed a safer bet than deciding on my life's purpose since all that obsession came up with was did I really _want_ to use that power.

And while I know I have to come to terms with what I need to do for myself without thoughts of anyone else, it's difficult to exclude a particular person since she figures heavily in any decision I might make, or think of, or whatever. And that's where my insomniac nights come from.

Oh, and the fact that I still don't have a lot of food in the house speaks volumes to how much I'm not eating which may be good for my waistline and budget, but not particularly good for my overall health and wellbeing (or so all the brochures say). But it's difficult to bring in food when the closest place to shop is the same place we used to go together. Rushing in, grabbing a cart and moving up and down the aisles like a whirlwind forgetting half of what I came for just so I don't happen to run into her isn't working. Of course, it doesn't help when my mind starts to chatter away about this new facet to my personality - cowardice. No, that might be too strong a word. Of course frightened, scared or terrified, while on my short list, don't cut it either. But the whirling of my stomach and the ducking out of the way every time I happen to spy a tall brunette leads only to that first word I came up with.

Great.

Man, I thought I had a handle on what has become an upcoming 'event' better than I obviously do and that just makes me nervous all over again like I was on our most recent first phone call. This shouldn't be so difficult. I know her. I know her better than I know myself, then I _knew_ myself. And, maybe that's the problem. I do know her. Take that with what she did to me and it all turns into a globby mess in my head which grows in size like the Blob with each passing day. By the time I return to work, I'll be a chaotic clutter of messiness.

Which leads me back to work.

This decision, this shall I stay or go, is becoming a huge Everest sized pile of rocks and another thing that shouldn't be so difficult. I've been a CSI forever; I'm comfortable with solving puzzles; I've worked in the most difficult situations and the easiest. But, over the years, I've let my job define me. And since I'm waffling does that mean I don't need it anymore? Don't need the crutch of work to make me feel good about myself?

Fun, isn't it.

And so it goes, on and on, bombarded by these lovely thoughts that are very settling (and I mean that in the most sarcastic way). They make for no appetite, sleepless nights and staring at walls and wondering when, or if, it all goes away.

And yet I know it won't go away anymore than that other thing that I'm not thinking about. You know, that particular person. Oh, how it looms over me, creating a pocket of anxiety inside me that ebbs and flows based upon the time of day and what I happen to be thinking about at any given time. And I know this isn't virgin soil. I've been here before and made the choice of throwing caution to the wind and letting my heart do the talking. At the time, it was the right choice, proving to be exciting and fulfilling and opened me up to all the other stuff I never took the time to notice. I ended up falling in love with life for the first time in a long while but came crashing down with it to founder at its loss. Deciding whether or not I want to return to the lab is hard enough. Tossing this other 'thing' into the mix just makes me want to shut my eyes and go to bed . . . hence the burying my head under a pillow thing.

I need a drink.

I need to get drunk not that that would solve anything except give me another headache. Arrgghh! I have to settle things; look at every angle; tear apart any preconceived notion I may have about the whys and wherefores of everything. Not a small task nor a particularly happy one either.

So, in lieu of going insane debating with myself, I _should_ cling to what I learned from my time in L.A. It showed me that I'm still a good CSI. It showed me that the puzzle is everything. It showed me that sometimes you need to reach out to those who've been forced to deal with things they are incapable of understanding and provide the comfort that's missing. And it enlightened me to the fact that kids don't sugarcoat things.

It's very refreshing, you know, to talk to them. Their outlook has yet to be uncorrupted by life's trials and tribulations and Simon is no exception. Despite his recent loss he seems to want to work his way through it. We're kindred spirits, the two of us. Who'd'a thunk it.

On our many outings, he and I have had wonderful discussions about butterflies, birds, dinosaurs, spiders and life. And not just everyday life, but far encompassing life. After having seen how screwed up adults can get when unforeseen events take place, I was sure he'd decided that growing up wasn't for him and was prepared to offer some solace from the shallow reserve I had tucked away. Little did I know how much _I_ would come to depend on him as we shared adventures together.

I believe it was our fourth trip together when Clare left the two of us to our own devices at the La Brea Tar Pits while she ran errands. Listening to the birds singing their hello to a new day, we leisurely strolled over to the Lake Pit to await the opening of the museum and I couldn't help but smile. She'd done me a great privilege by allowing me to oversee Simon, on my own, claiming I was 'good for him'. The day was already at a zenith. How could it get any better?

Personally, I hadn't been to the tar pits since 1977 when the museum opened, invited to the grand opening since I'd volunteered for so many summers on their excavations, especially intrigued when their research shifted from larger fossils to smaller specimens like insects and plants. That was an exciting time when I wondered if I should include paleontology in with my entomology interests. But plans change and off to complete my Masters I flew never seeming to have enough time to revisit my youthful pleasure of dusting off specimens in a deep hole. I laughed a bit. I guess I still do stuff like that. This time, however, my joy is not only in the finding but the putting away of those who make people like Simon miserable. It's a good trade off.

"Do you think we'll ever be swallowed up by all that tar?" he asked as we made our way to the edge of lake.

After having been with him on various outings, I was getting used to these types of questions. I had forgotten that I, too, thought of such things when I was a kid.

"I don't know. I do know that the first written account of the tar pits was over 200 years ago. Spanish explorers claimed scouts reported seeing geysers of tar issuing from the ground like springs. So, since we're still here after all that time, I believe we're pretty safe."

I grinned at him and was slightly taken aback when he gave out a heavy sigh and looked at me with, well, it looked like relief as if I'd made it possible for him to have a good time. For some reason that delighted me and I held tightly to that feeling and didn't even bother to question why. I'd done enough of that already.

Reaching the edge of the pit, I gazed out at the bubbling tar then over to the fiberglass mammoth caught in the stuff, his family on the edge reaching out to him, and remembered how that always seemed so poignant. It's so awful to find out that you've wandered into a quagmire then realize there's no way out. At least, no way out you want to take.

"That's sad," came to me and I tore my eyes from the mammoth to see Simon pointing at it. "He's never going to get out. His family won't ever see him again." He looked up at me then. "Why would he go in there?"

"He was fooled," I explained, kneeling next to him. "When you look out over the pit, what does it look like?"

"Water," he answered and I nodded.

"And that's what he saw. By the time he found out it was more than water, it was too late."

He stared at the pit then stuck hands in his pockets. "I wonder when Rilly knew," he said in a quiet voice.

I should've known what was coming but didn't. "Knew what, Simon?"

He turned toward me, eyes bright. "Knew it was more than water?"

I held his look and clamped my jaw firmly against the storm of emotion that rose. I couldn't tell him the truth, couldn't tell him that she knew for far too long. There was no way I was putting that bit of knowledge in his head. So I kept telling myself, as I rubbed his back, that lying wasn't always bad.

"She never knew."

He stared intently into my eyes for what seemed a lifetime as if trying to determine if I was telling him a story. Apparently I covered my tracks well because he reached out and wrapped me in a hug, a hug I happily returned. We didn't say anything, just stayed that way for a time until he decided to release me. Ducking my head to glance at my watch, I swiped at my face before looking back up at him.

"It's 9:30. The museum is open. Are you ready to look at every single solitary thing?"

The cheerless look that graced his face was whisked away by a grin. "Can we read everything, too?"

"Of course," I enthusiastically said. "How are you going to learn stuff if you don't read it all?" I smiled down at him as I stood, feeling his hand grab onto mine, something he'd been doing on our adventures together.

"Good, 'cause sometimes when dad comes with mom and me he hurries through the reading parts."

I squeezed his hand. "Well, we're not going to do that today. I haven't been here in a long time and I want to find out what's changed."

"How long ago?" he asked as we walked toward the entrance.

"28 years."

"Wow. That's like forever."

I chuckled. "Yeah, it seems like to me, too. I spent many summers here. It was fascinating. I was a huge dinosaur fan."

"My favorite is the Stegosaurus. His tail is cool."

"Mine was the Triceratops. I thought they were the neatest things. They've found a lot of them in Montana. Seems it was a gathering place for them."

"You sure know a lot of stuff."

I laughed. "Because I read everything." He giggled and my smile grew bigger.

"Welcome to the Page Museum," the young lady at the door said as we made our way inside.

I murmured a thank you and took the map she offered realizing that Simon had let go and was standing by the railing. Slowly, I walked toward him, pulling the backpack I carried over both arms.

"Where do you want to start?"

He turned from side to side then pointed. "That way."

"Then that's where we shall go. Oh," I quickly said, holding onto his jacket before he could get away, making him turn. "Make sure you let me know when you're hungry. Don't want to miss out on your mom's peanut butter sandwiches."

"She puts bacon on 'em."

"I know. Yummy," I said, rubbing my stomach as he laughed.

What a sweet sound. And what followed was a great day. The zenith I thought couldn't be eclipsed was as I saw everything through his eyes, managing to look beyond the scientific and into the awe of these creatures that ruled the earth so many millennia ago, mostly wiped out by nature or asteroids or some other unknown disaster. It made what happened to me a far cry from the apocalypse I found it to be at the time.

That feeling, that feeling of a kind of calm settled over me after that day and followed me home to Vegas. Oh, sure, it gives way to nerves when I think about going back to work and facing my team, but at least I'm not a stuttering shell of a person I'd been when I left. It seemed like progress to me. I had high hopes that I was well on the way to fully recovering the part of me I'd lost.

And then this morning happened and, for a short while, I was frozen where I stood, barely getting through it without throwing up. It threw me because I'd regained most of my confidence, or so I thought, so why was I shaking like a leaf? I knew Jim would be more than happy to listen to me try to explain how I felt but I didn't feel I should burden him with something else from the Grissom collection of angst.

So much for progress.

And that's why I'm sitting here in the fresh air, watching the water ripple as I toss in one small rock then another, waiting for the person who's dealt quite frequently with various forms of anxiety, drama and all out lunacy. And, while I'm pretty sure I don't fit into the lunacy category, who really knows until they slap you in a straightjacket and slam the door shut.

My watch beeps. I quickly dump the rocks left in my hand and grab the two fishing poles next to me. They should be ready when he arrives. It's the least I can do.

**Philip Kane**

Hmm. It's cooler today. That's a first for this particular date. I'll have to write that down in my journal. Yes, I keep track of the weather. Some people track celebrities while others collect shells. Me? I note the temperature, the rainfall and, with my wife's help, chase tornadoes. Oh, we haven't done so in a few years but it is gratifying to stand amid the whirling winds and take on fate. Of course our friends insist we're insane and, being I'm a psychologist, I inform them that I'm sure I'd know if we were to which they scoff then laugh. So I pull out my other gem – dealing with my 'clients' is a little like tornado chasing so it's a free way to collect more knowledge. They don't buy that either.

But, it's true. Each session usually starts quiet and unassuming then picks up and strays from topic to topic much like a tornado will pick and choose what it destroys and what it leaves alone, until finally the heart of the matter is found and splat, like a 2x4 to the head, the issue touches down and obliterates whatever was there before. That's on my good days, of course. There are many days where the winds of trouble dry up and I'm left with no more understanding at the end of the hour than the second that hour started. At least, no progress in the understanding of the specific problem. What I derive from those 'unproductive hours' is insight – a view into the people who sit across from me that is gleaned from sporadic comments or the like.

Take Jim Brass. He's like an egg. Bear with me here. Outside he's tough - he needs that to protect himself from all that he sees. But, on the inside, he's an emotional, loving being who feels for his men; who loves his daughter still even though their relationship is fraught with issues; who has a circle of friends that he would entrust his life to. And one of the closest is Gil Grissom.

Jim came to me after what happened in the store. He was so broken up over his feelings of failure as a friend and I understood where he was coming from. Gil is a complex man capable of so many things just not everything which is shocking to most of us who know him. It threw _me_ for a loop when the news hit my desk. Jim took it harder and the only thing that made him feel better was hearing from the man himself that there was nothing he could've done. Thank you, Gil.

Then Greg Sanders and Nick Stokes graced my door, full of remorse over their treatment of Gil and, subsequently, Sara Sidle, each suggesting they quit as their only solution. I reminded them that walking away solves nothing, especially for themselves. They're both still here and I've heard they made up with Sara.

And then there's Sara herself. Nick and Greg filled me in on what she'd done, pointing to her as one of the reasons for Gil walking into that store, so I fully expected a personal appearance. None came. So, about two weeks after 'the incident' (as everyone started calling it) I used my tornado chasing skills and tracked her down. (Actually, we were both scheduled to appear in court on the same case but the other sounds much more action packed.)

She was sitting outside the courtroom going through a file and I edged over to sit down beside her. She scooted over a bit then looked up. I believe the term would be blanched at the sight of me to which I took no offense. I'd seen that look before.

"Beautiful day isn't it?" I cheerfully asked.

"Ah, yeah."

"Reminds me of the day I got married. It had been raining all week. I mean downpour and Gina, my then intended now wife, was hoping it would hold up for just awhile so our guests wouldn't get soaked. I assured her it would be so."

"And you were certain because?"

"Because I just knew," I gave her with a slight smile. She looked doubtful and I laughed. "Psychologically I knew I didn't know for sure, but in my heart . . . In my heart I had a feeling that all would be well and my certainty in that gave me confidence."

"And so it didn't rain?" Sara asked and I shook my head.

"It poured. Buckets. And I went to pieces."

"You?"

I chuckled . "My confidence flew out the window when I awoke to big, fat gray clouds that gave us big, fat raindrops. I railed to the heavens about why we couldn't have just one day or one hour of dry so my Gina could have the wedding she wanted. It didn't work." She frowned and I knew what her next question was going to be.

"Sooooo, why does today remind you of your wedding?" she asked as the both of us looked out the open courthouse doors to big blue sky and wisps of clouds trailing across it.

I smiled. "Well, it was kind of a trick statement," I admitted and her frown grew larger. "Every day reminds me of that day because of what I got out of it. Gina. All she really wanted was the right to call me hers and to share with me her love and her time and her life. Oh, sure, we've had our fights. I've spent more than one night on the couch and she even went home to her parents a few times but we always knew we weren't very good without the other."

I'd almost lost her with that but plowed on. It's what I do.

"They're painful, relationships, and they are glorious along with all the little and big words in between. Passionate and sweet; they make you weak at the knees one minute and crazy mad the next. I've been through all of them more than once and I'm glad I did because the two of us have weathered the storm, so to speak, from when it started with thunder rolling around us as I slid the ring on her finger to now when we can complete each other's sentences and smile at the memories."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked and I looked at her, really looked at her to see fear in her eyes and a trembling of her chin.

"You know I've heard a lot about Gil this last week . . ." I began, stopping as she looked away and started gathering up her things.

"I have to get inside. My case . . ."

"Doesn't start for another hour," I interjected. "We're both on the same docket."

I held her gaze and was pleased when she gave in and dropped her stuff then herself onto the bench. "What I've heard is that everyone wants him to come back because they miss him. Some want to apologize. I've heard guilt and compassion, too, from people who think they might've pushed him into that store because they didn't do enough to help. Their regrets are heartfelt and deep and they want nothing more than to make things right. You were in that store, Sara. Do you feel the same?"

Her head hung down and she remained silent.

"I've seen the tape," I admitted. "The whole tape. I know what you mean to him and I'm pretty sure what he means to you."

"I ruined everything," came a soft whisper.

"Everything is a big word, Sara. There are so many shades of grey involved. It's all about interpretation."

"I told him I was done with all of it. I meant it."

"Do you now?" She shook her head. "Did you tell him that in the store?"

"Yes."

"Did he hear you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Odd." She gave me a questioning look. "Well, I didn't notice him tossing you aside. What I saw was he held you tighter and wouldn't let go. I think he heard you."

"But you don't know Gil. He's . . ."

"Complicated, anti-social, scared of having people know him?"

Her mouth dropped open a bit. "Ah, I guess you do know him."

I gave her a bit of a smile. "I became attached to the LVPD about a year after he started. He fascinated me. I'd never seen anyone with such concentration. Wrote a paper on him. With his permission, of course. But I've seen him change over the years especially when he started losing his hearing. Those were tough times for him."

"He wouldn't tell anyone."

"You know how private he is and fearful that he wouldn't be able to work in a job he loves. It shook him thinking he'd have to find a new way to live at his age."

"Should you be telling me this?" she asked and I chuckled.

"I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. For as private as he is, all you have to do is watch him to find out volumes of information. Most people don't take the time. But you did and he let you in."

"And I took advantage of that. He was everything I wanted, everything I'd tried to get for years, and I walked away. I don't deserve him."

"So, what if he comes back and wants you in his life? Will you refuse him?"

"I . . ." She faltered to a stop and I sighed.

"Please remember that I've no stake in any of this except to see two people overcome a traumatic event and, in so doing, return to the closeness they once shared. In this world, in your job, it helps to have someone near who understands what you're going through, who understands that a double or triple shift doesn't mean you don't want to be together, it's just the job. You two found each other through all of the death you face every day. You gave each other comfort and you found love. There's nothing more important than holding onto that for as long as you can."

"I still love him. I love him more now than before but I made a promise to myself not to push him; promised to agree to whatever he decided. If he decides to walk away I'll have to let him. This is my fault. I know that and I'll have to live with that."

"It's not _all_ your fault, Sara. Others were involved and they are working through it in hopes of finding a way to make it up to him however they can. That's all you have to do. Find a way to make it up to him."

"I broke his trust, Philip. How do you rebound from that?"

"Slowly," I said drawing a withering glance from her. "Okay, I'm going to share another story about my larger than life life. When I was in college, I broke up with my girl because I saw her being awful chummy with a guy I knew was smitten with her. And she didn't seem to mind. I never gave her the chance to explain. I only knew that I hurt and anything she would say wouldn't matter."

"What happened?"

I smiled then. "Well, you already heard about our wedding day. We have two beautiful children and I've never regretted changing my mind."

"What changed it?"

"She did. I did. We both did," I shrugged. "I found that the longer I was away from her, the worse I felt. That listening to her explanation, when I finally listened, didn't seem like an excuse but the truth. Plus, I had her friends keeping me in the know about how miserable she was which made me think if she was happy to be rid of me she wouldn't be miserable. You know how these things get blown up into huge life ending problems. All it boils down to is if you both love each other."

"It's not that simple."

I nodded. "That's true. Simple and Gil don't necessarily go together."

"Gee, thanks."

I laughed. "We've already discussed how complicated he is and you say you've broken his trust. Now the two of you have to ease back together. It could take months for him to start relying on you again. Or he could surprise us both and decide that he overreacted and wants to start fresh. Who knows? It's all a crapshoot." She smiled then. "Well, it is. I can say all the right things; I can even use my own life for fodder but my life isn't your life or Gil's. Each of us is different. Each of us handles things in their own way." I grabbed her hand. "What I'm trying to say is whatever happens will happen in its own time. And whenever you need to talk, please come to me. Don't let things fester. That's when they become a mountain instead of a molehill."

I smiled at her and she took in a deep breath.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome. So, what do you say we go in there and put Mr. Kleinfelder away? Feel motivated?"

"I believe I do," she answered, gathering up her things.

"Good."

She grinned at me as we walked into the courtroom and I hoped I'd done some good.

And I guess I did. She came to see me the following week and the week after, sharing with me bits of information she'd learned from Jim until finally she let me know that she and Gil were talking, albeit on the phone and very simple conversations but, at least, it was a start and that's always the best place to be. Things were looking up.

And then came this morning's urgent call from Gil and, since he wouldn't give me any details, here I am pulling in next to his car at Lake Mead. I knew he was going to be talking with the Sheriff today but there seemed to be something else going on so a nice relaxed place was a perfect fit for whatever it was. Hey, maybe it's about Sara. I'd been thinking of bringing up the idea of having her at one of his sessions . . .

That thought blows up in my head when a vision of me, weighted down by rocks and wrapped in what suspiciously looks like a body bag, is thrown into said lake; a lake that is awfully big. Well. That's not pleasant. At least in my office I've got a handy stapler to protect myself while here . . . well, here I've nothing but a cooler, a floppy hat and a booming voice that, I'm sure, won't help me in the slightest if he doesn't take to my suggestion. I'm not saying Gil's violent nor has he shown any tendencies to be that way, but why should I tempt fate.

I'll let _him_ make that suggestion.

**Grissom**

"Gil, you in there?" I hear from my left and immediately rise to my feet.

"In here, Philip," I call out waiting impatiently to see his friendly face.

And there he is in a large hat that flops when he walks. He's wearing shorts and carrying a small cooler. It's odd to see him dressed like that. I've never seen him out of a suit. I feel more comfortable already.

"Gil," he says around a big smile and I hold out my hand, easily enveloped in his large one.

"This was a great suggestion, Philip. I didn't think I'd be able to take an office session today."

"I enjoy changing up my techniques. It opens the mind or so says my oldest."

"How is Tabitha?" I ask, genuinely interested.

"Graduating from MIT this fall, full honors."

"Congratulations."

"We are as proud as two parents can be but then I'm sure all parents say that at one time or another."

I smile and so does he as he lays out a blanket and sits, leaning back against a large rock, hands clasped over his stomach while I tower over him.

"Oh," I say reaching for one of the poles and handing it over. "I thought you might like to keep your hands busy." I don't even know if he likes fishing.

He takes it from me and admires the feathered lure. "Did you tie this yourself?" he asks.

"Ah, yeah," I answer sitting next to him. "The Fab Four taught me."

"They did good."

"They made sure I did it right. Didn't want other people talking behind my back. Besides I might need a talent to fall back on just in case this CSI thing doesn't work out."

Philip smiles. "It's good to have people like that," he says, expertly letting out the line, the lure striking the water with a quiet slap.

"Nice."

"'There is certainly something in angling that tends to produce a serenity of the mind'," he quotes then glances toward me. "Something all of us need at one time or another."

I toss out my own line. "My dad and I used to go whenever we could," I begin watching the ripples move toward us. "He said 'the charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable – a perpetual series of occasions for hope'."

"John Buchan."

I nod. "At the time I thought, wow, my dad's a deep thinker . . . then found out later he really was." Philip softly laughs. "When I got older, mom gave me his journals. He kept a lot of them and they were about his life, the things he loved, and sprinkled throughout were quotes that helped him express what he couldn't define using his own words. I do that; use other people's words to convey how I feel instead of just spitting it out. I guess I don't want to look like a fool. Well, any more than normal."

I can feel Philip's eyes on me and turn his way. He's studying me and I let him. I mean, what choice do I have? It's his job to determine whether or not I'm safe to go back to work. Or it could be he knows I'm stalling, talking about anything other than what I want to be talking about.

"'Fishing is the sport of drowning worms'," comes at me followed by a goofy smile and I laugh out loud. "That sounds good, doesn't it?" he asks. "Laughter echoing off the rocks. Fills you with a certain lightness as if gravity could give way at any second and off you'd float."

"So this is what fresh air does to you."

"Oh, this is nothing," he answers with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Wait until a couple of hours pass. Oooweee! I'll be hard to stop then."

I laugh again and the feelings that raged through me this morning seem to be mere hiccups than viewed at the time. I should've tried therapy long ago.

"So, what happened with the Sheriff today?" he asks and I shrug.

"I got everything I asked for," I answer.

"The 'keeping Catherine as supervisor and you become a plebe' or the 'I'm taking myself back to L.A. and you can't stop me' version?"

I smile again and shake my head. "The 'I'm not really sure what I want so can I take a bit more time to think about it' version."

"That works, too. So Elam said yes?"

"He did which I could take both ways – yippee he's staying or thank God that crazy man isn't coming back yet."

Philip just shook his head. "I'm pretty sure it was the yippee reason. You're a great asset to him. He would be a fool to let you walk away."

"I guess."

I stare out at the water and yell at myself. I need to talk about the other thing but I can't seem to push the words out my mouth. I wish Philip was psychic and . . .

"So, what do you _really_ want to talk about?" he says breaking into my mental sentence, which startles me when it shouldn't.

He _is_ a psychologist and knows me pretty well and I'm sure my attempt at trying to keep the panic from my voice when I called provided him with enough fodder to figure it out. I lower my head and stare at my reel.

"I'm . . ."

Faltering, I deride myself for so many things, then look up and out over the lake while taking a deep breath. This is why I'm here. Just say it.

"I saw Sara today."

"Oh?" is all he says.

I rub at my face then close my eyes. "Yeah."

* * *

_Okay, I've no idea if a psychologist would do what Philip Kane does in this part but I feel it fits his character. He's a serious professional but also a fun guy who's found a way to connect with his 'clients'. And, if seeking out Sara or going fishing opens the doors, he'll do it._

_I hope you enjoyed this part. The 2nd part of this piece is coming up in Part 29. Thanks for reading and reviewing. :-D_


	29. Chapter 29

_Hello! I apologize for the delay in posting. I've been off my feed for the past week or so since I learned I may be out of a job come Dec-Jan, a job I've been working for 16 years. My biggest peeve is the medical benefits I'll be losing if I can't find something elsewhere in the company. My dad claims this could be the best thing ever. (He has visions sometimes - and I mean that seriously - so I don't think he's just blowing smoke.) Perhaps I'll finally have time to work on my 3 novels I've had in the works for years. Who knows. _

_So, enough of excuses and onto thanks to my devoted fans: Moonstarer, Otie1983, Danzjaron, SarahmUK, SevernSound, spottedhorse, 'Guest' (wish you'd leave your name so I could thank you personally), Hithui and, last but so not least, Nancy1._

Onward ~

* * *

**Part 29**

**Sara **

I made cookies. Chocolate chip cookies.

And not the prepared ones. I made them from scratch with a mixer and measuring cups and a pile of chocolate chips. And it has to be a pile, not a measly cup but a large soup bowl filled to the brim. I wanted that smell in the house. I wanted to relive the moment I found out that when you gave Gil a Hershey bar he's happy but when you gave him a chocolate chip cookie with more chips than cookie, he's ecstatic.

And it did the trick. That pungent aroma that comes with those specific cookies is still lingering, filling my nose much like it did when he dragged me to a cookie expo. He was, literally, like a kid in a candy store. We moved from table to table; conversed with a myriad of cooks and bakers and ended up in the chocolate chip aisle. Yep, an entire aisle devoted to the many ways to tantalize your tongue with those little morsels and the smile on his face was pure bliss. I came away with a few tips and immediately went to work as soon as we got home. I had a happy boy on my hands that night. I never made them for anyone but him and I haven't made them in a long while. So the question that should surface would be why make them now? Why torment myself with memories? Well, that's easy.

I saw him today.

I saw Gil big as life and he looked . . . He looked better than any of the photos I've gotten recently. He even looked better than he does in my dreams and that's nothing to scoff at. He was tan and his hair was a bit shaggier (more curls) than I'm used to and it looked as if he'd lost weight, not a staggering amount but just right, and my heart sang. I literally would've broken out in song if I hadn't been so startled. Instead I froze to the sidewalk, only my eyes following him up the steps to the LVPD, willing him to look, to see me standing there.

And he did.

And my singing heart stopped flat.

All of the feelings I'd ever had for that man fell on me in a heap and my breath was gone, my brain sideswiped, and all I could do was stare. Apparently, he was in the same state since he, too, was staring, stopped halfway up the steps looking as if he was trying to decided whether or not to wave or call out or something. I started to smile, my hand slowly rising, seeing nothing else but him. And that's why I missed the slamming of car doors and the running footsteps of the press as they jumped from a van, raced across the street and very nearly tackled him. Tearing his eyes from mine as they grouped about him, he tried to make a run for it but his foot slipped on the step and he got an up close and personal flash directly in the face. That had to hurt.

I started toward him, ready to toss each and every one of those piranhas into the bushes when two of them saw me and made a run in my direction. Do I let Gil fend for himself or throw caution to the wind? Or do I feed the media frenzy and scream obscenities and end up in Ecklie's office? Thankfully the decision was taken from me when Jim rushed out the doors, grabbed Gil and dragged him inside. Now I was all alone so I did the third thing that came to me – turned tail and ran, sprinting through the side door I'd just exited from and watched the rabid throng's faces fall. Oh, how ever thankful I was for the edict passed down that if one member of the press set foot inside the LVPD without authorization they would 'disappear' courtesy of one Jim Brass. That always stops them.

Blowing out a breath it was nearly my last when familiar voices met my ears. Stealing a peek around the corner, I could see Jim waving a hand in front of Gil's face.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked.

"Fingers?"

Jim chuckled. "So you couldn't come in the back way? Sneak in like the rest of us?"

"I'm all show, you know that," Gil responded then he smiled.

I gasped. Fortunately I had enough wits left to quickly hide myself as Jim looked my way. He saw me, I know he did.

"So, you seeing the Sheriff today?" he asked instead of giving me away.

"Yeah."

"Don't worry so much. You'll go gray."

"You are _so_ funny," came Gil's voice.

"It'll be fine. Call me tonight. Tell me what happened."

"I will."

And then footsteps were moving away. One set of steps. I took a deep breath. Now was my chance to say hello or not; to ask him how he was or not; to quickly leave or . . .

Ignoring myself, I snuck a peek and found I was in his line of sight as he looked over his shoulder. I was caught and yet didn't move because the last time I saw him he carried a haunted look, what I'd done to him visible for all to see. This time, oh, this time I could see a return of sparkling blue eyes, see that the drawn, strained look that made me want to cry was gone.

He was . . . beautiful.

"Hi," he said after he turned completely around.

The sound of his voice made me shiver. "Hi."

We stood there like two kids – him with hands in his jacket pockets, me fidgeting with my nails. Catherine would've snorted with laughter.

"Ah, I, ah, have a meeting with the Sheriff," he finally said.

"Oh," was all I could actually get out my mouth. I wanted to ask him to call me when he was done; let me know what was decided. But none of that happened, so I said the next best thing. "Um, sorry about the press. I didn't see them."

"Me either," he answered. "I'm still seeing spots."

I laughed then, sort of an explosion of sound and quickly put a hand over my mouth to stop _that_ from happening again.

"If you hadn't tripped . . ."

"Two left feet," he said with a nod and I followed suit. "Well, ah, I've-I've gotta go to, ah . . ."

"Meet the Sheriff."

"Yeah, meet the Sheriff."

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeated as he took a step back then turned, stopping before he moved any further and glancing back at me. "It was . . ." He stood there silent, seeming to collect himself. "It was nice to see you again."

"You, too. You look. . . you look good."

"All that fish." I just nodded. "You, too, ah, look good," he quickly added. I didn't say anything just kind of shrugged. "Well, I've gotta go."

"Go on. I don't want you to be late or anything."

"Okay. Um, bye."

Backing away, he gave me a bit of a wave then turned. I wondered if he'd take one last look and he did! He caught my eye then hurried out of sight and I had to lean against the wall just to keep standing. I think I was there a good five minutes before my brain caught up with everything else. I needed to leave. I wouldn't want him thinking I was a stalker or something by loitering in the hallways.

So I shook myself and peered through the glass door. No press skulking about, at least that I could see, so out I flew hurrying to my car, vaguely hearing a few shouts before peeling out of the parking lot and hoping no one was waiting for me at home with those inane questions. 'So, what was it like to see Dr. Grissom?', 'Was it a shock to run into him?', 'Do you think you two will ever get back together?' Like I didn't think about that all the time. Like I just wanted to rush towards him, take him in my arms and never let go. Like being in his presence, while sending my blood pressure through the roof, made everything more bearable.

The need to have cookies, chocolate chip cookies, hit me moments later and I was in the kitchen before the front door closed. Just the smell of them eases the nervous tics that have taken the place of my sanity and, when the first batch was done, ice cold milk was ready and waiting and there was no plate in sight. Why dirty something when eating off the cookie sheet standing up works just fine.

Biting into the first one and waving a hand in front of my mouth (like that would quell the burning of my tongue), a milk chaser followed. It was divine. Two more disappeared before I was forced to lick the chocolate from my fingers before it dripped onto my shirt. I giggled, unable and unwilling to stop thinking on the last time I made cookies for Gil.

We'd been out in a field, a very large field, doing an inch-by-inch inspection to find a knife. Not a big knife but a small Swiss Army knife that was pivotal to Nick's case. Along the way we'd run across a body full of bugs and that just made things take even longer. And about eight hours later I fell asleep in the Tahoe. Not intentionally. I'd gone back to get some water and the next thing I knew I could hear Gil telling Greg to 'take her home'. I fought against it then gave in when he raised a brow and pursed his mouth and I was looking at the immovable object. It would do me no good to inform him that he was moving well past a triple so I acquiesced which, I think, surprised him. Both brows rose at that then a small smile appeared around a mumbled 'thank you'.

After much persuasion, Greg dropped me off at the lab to collect my car with the promise to call him once I got home so 'Grissom won't skin me alive'. Promise given, I headed to Gil's. I remembered walking in the door, greeting Hank, calling Greg, then nothing. I didn't even remember getting into bed until I woke up with start as a loud clap of thunder surrounded me. No Hank and no Gil next to me came abruptly to my attention followed by rain pelting against the windows. I groaned. Rain, rain was the worst thing possible for evidence and he was out in it and already on a triple . . . God, I just knew he was going to be pissed. Shaking my head, I pushed back my hair. I saw cookie making in my immediate future.

I headed out toward the kitchen, yawning along the way, only to stop halfway when I spied two lumps on the couch – Hank and Gil – both sound asleep. He was still in his jacket and shoes and slumped over to one side, a file strewn about himself, the floor and Hank who was snuggled up behind him. Smiling, I gently kissed Gil's forehead and silently moved away trying not to make any sound which, as always happens, means you'll be louder still. When a rather large clap of thunder rattled the windows and neither of them moved a muscle, I gave up on trying to be quiet and just did my thing.

As soon as the first batch of yummy morsels sat newly out of the oven and the next batch was in for cooking, I slipped out of the kitchen to the bedroom in hopes of taking a birdbath then changing into my pj's all before the timer sounded. Tying up my hair into a ponytail, I hurried back toward the kitchen, smiling at the now empty sofa and the small whines coming from Hank as I sneaked a peek at my two men.

Hank was surely assigned the job of standing guard but failed to see me approach since he refused to take his eyes from Gil who was cramming cookies in his mouth as if they were the last bit of food on earth. I clenched my jaw to keep from laughing and, instead, cleared my throat. He whipped around so fast he knocked two to the floor, retrieving them quickly before Hank lunged. An innocent grin appeared over chocolate smeared lips that was soon followed by a garbled 'I was just testing them' and I couldn't help but let loose a laugh. Telling him how irresistibly cute he was wasn't enough so I followed it up with a kiss then licked the chocolate off his lips only to have his chocolate covered fingers mess up my clean pj's. Damn, we had to take a shower. After that he dragged me off to bed.

I sigh. That was a good day. That was a _very_ good day.

And now I sit on my couch, two remaining cookies staring at me from a napkin, half a glass of milk to the side and I debate with myself about making more. Or I could just sit here, close my eyes, and remember the pleasant surprise of those sparkling blue eyes.

My ringing phone makes me blink myself back to the present and I rummage through my purse, smiling at the caller ID.

"Hi, Jim," I say, reaching for a cookie.

"Well?" he asks and I chuckle.

"Do you like chocolate chip cookies?"

"Ah, yeah."

"I'll have a new batch ready by the time you get here."

"I'm on my way."

And he's gone and I smile, tossing the phone onto my purse then head for the kitchen thinking this has turned out to be a _very_, _very_ good day.

**Grissom**

I smell cookies and look up to find Philip opening a foil covered container. He was still waiting for me to continue after my mind-blowing statement (at least to my ears), not bothering to spur me on. It was appreciated. However, I believe he is tempting my tongue to loosen with a sugar wrapped confection and it'll probably work. I lean in, my nose drawing me closer.

"Want some?" he finally asks holding out the container toward me, nearly knocking me in the face.

Slightly embarrassed by my overt actions, I decide to fumble through my backpack for something, anything before I look up.

"Oh, thanks," I innocently answer reaching in and pulling out a rather large cookie. Oatmeal by the looks of it.

"You have that face," he says and I raise a brow in question. "That 'oh my, God, cookie-cookie-cookie' face." He smiles and I give out a short laugh.

"That obvious, huh?"

"I know it well. Gina says that I could be out in the yard buried under a mountain of manure and I'd still know when the cookies are done." He pats his stomach. "And it shows."

I chuckle and take a bite. These are fine cookies but not my favorite. Chocolate chip reigns supreme with my taste buds and Sara makes the best (even better than mom). I don't know what she puts in them but they are moist and chewy and about the best thing I've ever eaten. And she knows I love them and claims to only make them for me. I sigh. I haven't had them in a long time.

Dropping my hand down, I stare at the half eaten morsel but, instead, see Sara standing outside the LVPD, our eyes locked, my heart beating so hard I thought it might explode, and all I could think about was she looked good. She looked better than good and an instant of anger rose in me. Why doesn't she look bad? I've been a mess. Hasn't she suffered like I have? Did this not mean anything to her like it did to me? Quickly, I squelch that echo of my 3-year old self by reminding my chaotic half that we'd been Emailing and talking and we were feeling a bit more comfortable with each other again. It seemed to stick, that reminder, so I guess it was okay for her to look good.

So I shook that moment away and took the time to take her in wondering at how my breath seemed short and hoped I wasn't having a heart attack; or that my fingers and toes were tingling. Well, that could be most anything from Guillain-Barre syndrome to frostbite. My brain was firing in all directions, obviously, and it took a loud clang rising about me to shift my attention from her and my possible life threatening symptoms to the horde racing toward me. What followed was an ill-advised attempt to get up the stairs foiled by a mis-step that sent my shades flying in one direction and me directly into a camera flash. It took nearly 10 minutes for the spots to disappear. But around those spots, when we came face-to-face inside the LVPD, I could see those brown eyes that had entranced me for so long and noticed the feelings they always invoked rising within, thoughts of bodily calamities disappearing.

Our awkward interaction spoke volumes to the distance between us yet the underlying sweetness of the encounter muted the alarms that I expected to go off. Only later, when I finished with the Sheriff and ended up at the empty spot where I'd last seen her, did a slight disappointment raise its head and those alarms started to wail. Thank goodness, Philip was in his office.

"Gil?"

My head jerks up and I lean back giving him a half-hearted smile, holding up the cookie.

"I was thinking about Sara's chocolate chip cookies." Okay, I was earlier. "I stand by the oven and wait for them to come out. Ov-glove on one hand, glass of ice cold milk in the other and I'm off to the races. Usually I reach sugar nirvana about halfway through a batch and, if I'm lucky, she doesn't find me until then." I pat _my_ stomach then. "Fortunately, she doesn't make them a lot."

"That's a good thing for your list isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's already on there."

"How's it coming anyway? The list? One side bigger than the other yet?"

I look up and give him a slight shrug. "There's only one entry on the bad side. I'm going to need a lot of good stuff to counteract it."

"It will come," he assures me.

"I guess." I can feel him watching me so nibble on the cookie.

"When you saw Sara today, what were you thinking?"

My head pops up and I'm sure I look like a deer in headlights for there were so many things going on that I've yet to sift through them entirely. But he wants an answer and, while I know he'll sit patiently and wait, I am on the clock.

"Um, well, ah . . ." I stammer then shut my mouth and shake my head.

"Give me a word then," he asks, never taking his eyes off his fishing pole. "Anything'll do."

I wipe at the crumbs on my lips, not really wanting to say this, not feeling a bit comfortable but that's why we're both here. Here goes.

"Anger," reluctantly I admit with a cringe, turning from him.

"And?"

I quickly turn back, brows raised. "You don't think that's odd?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Why not?"

He chuckles a bit. "You were angry when she left right?"

"Well, stunned, hurt then angry."

"So it seems reasonable that you would be angry now. Right?"

"Um, no?" I ask not completely sure.

"Why not?"

"Because that was . . ."

I stop flat. What I was going to say made no sense as it tumbled toward my tongue. I was hurt, sad, dumbfounded and wounded to the core at the beginning but after that I was just angry, my cast visible evidence to that. And that kind of seeped away with mom's help. Or so I thought.

"Don't let that worry you, Gil," Philip informs me. "I can see that it already does." He points at my frowning face. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that your face could stay that way?"

I sigh. "Yes, she did."

"Well, then stop it." I did and he nods at me. "So, why _are_ you angry now . . . aside from the original thing."

"She . . . She looked good, better than I thought she, you know, should after everything." I rub at my forehead. "God, I sound like I should be in daycare or something."

"No, you sound like a man in pain." I shake my head not wanting to use that as an excuse. "You're not a bad person, Gil. Thinking good or bad thoughts about a person is normal. Go on."

I stare out at the water. "I was a mess for a long time with no end in sight. I lost weight, didn't shave, barely fed myself. Mom said she recognized Hank before me. I guess, I guess I . . . well, I wanted her to look like the hell she put me through. I wanted bags under her eyes, hair all over the place. I wanted her to look like I felt and more since she's the one that caused all of this."

"And that would've satisfied you? Let you think she'd paid for what she did to you?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. A little, maybe," I finally settle on. "It was unsettling."

"I can tell." I smirk at him. "I know for a fact that she was a mess, Gil. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a person so filled with guilt over what she'd done." I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm not joshin'. Scout's honor."

I nod a bit. "Yeah, well, Jim kind of said the same thing. Catherine, too."

"So, you already knew about that, you sneak."

"I guess I wanted . . ." What did I want? Sara to hold a knife to her chest and plunge it in? Toss herself into the ocean and drown? No. "She just looked so happy to see me and, for a moment, I forgot about what happened and remembered how it felt with her."

"And that was?"

"Joyful."

"And?"

"Comfortable, I guess. That feeling sort of wiggled around inside me like it was glad to be back."

"Go on."

I know how he works. He doesn't push so much as pull these things out of me which I'm thankful for otherwise I'd just sit and stare at him. And then it hit me what the other thing was and I kind of grinned.

"Tell."

I look at him. "Warmth."

"Ah, the best thing," he says picking up another cookie.

"That's what I miss the most," I confess.

I miss the warmth of her hands, her body, her smile, her heart that belonged to me. It filled me, wrapped itself around me like a blanket, making me feel safe. I stare at my cookie.

"But that feeling lasted about as long as my meeting. When I came out to find her gone, it all left me in a bunch making me feel almost like I did when she walked away the first time."

"Lost?"

I shake my head. "Afraid. I mean, she was standing there and I didn't have the nerve to ask her to wait."

"Because?"

A hawk makes its presence known and I look up. "Because I don't know how to forget all that went on."

"You can't," he gives me and I shoot a glance at him. "It's virtually impossible to block out such a traumatic experience because it will always be with you. Well, short of amnesia or short-term memory loss or death that is."

Now _that_ does not sit well and I tense up so badly I crumble the remainder of the cookie in my hand and watch the pieces fall to the ground.

"Then how can I ever move forward?" comes from me in a shaky voice.

"And _that's_ the question I was hoping to hear."

I turn to see him grinning and I'm baffled. "I'm sorry?"

"The first step to recovery is to _want_ to move forward."

"I thought it was to ask for help."

Philip moves his head side to side. "Let me rephrase that. For _you_, the first step to recovery is to _want_ to move forward. You've already received help from innumerable people, your mom and Paul first and foremost. Even from Conway who forced you back into your world of puzzles, so that step had already been taken, albeit a little late."

"I didn't want their pity," I admit wiping my hand against my pant leg.

"It's hard sometimes to separate compassion from pity especially when you feel as if the world's against you." He eyes me but I say nothing. "Gil, you had two huge events going on. First, Sara walked out leaving you to try and figure out what went wrong. You didn't ask for help then, you just barreled along and hoped it would mend itself. It didn't. Things only got worse and you found yourself in a deadly situation where you asked a man to kill you. One dovetailed right into the other without any obvious way out and it took four guys and a fishing pole, your mom, broken knuckles and a doozy of a nightmare to start the ball rolling in the right direction. You're very stubborn."

"Stupid is more like it," I say.

"Not stupid, Gil. Pig-headed, maybe, or obstinate. Rigid is a good word, too."

"Anything else?"

He held up a hand and counted off. "Pig-headed, obstinate, rigid." Down went three fingers and up came a smile. "I think that about covers it."

"I am all those things and more," I sigh. "Sara showed me how much better I could be then took it away." I stare at him for a moment. "I want it back - all of it - I just don't know how I can trust her with all of it; trust that she won't walk again because I can't . . . I don't think I'll make it next time."

Man, I just admitted that I might well and truly die if Sara leaves again or, at least, a form of death. Surviving, I guess should be the word. You know a life that consists of breathing in and out, going to and from work and not allowing anyone in. When I did that before, it was comfortable. I was used to it. But things changed and I found the grass was greener when my heart was involved. Then she left, took what drove my heart and disappeared, and my previously comfortable life was now one of enduring each second of every day and I hated it. So, yeah, I don't think I'd make it through again with or without anyone's help.

"Second chances are extremely difficult," Philip begins looking out toward the lake, "because there's all that baggage from the first that clutters up everything, makes decisions hard. But then living each day is hard. Every breath we take is a risk; every time we move left instead of right is a gamble that may or may not pay off."

"But it's my heart that's in jeopardy, Philip," I inform him even though I know he's aware of this. "My ability to love and trust another person with more than the superficial everyday crap we all go through has been altered. I took forever to take that step with Sara, to let her in past what everyone else sees and she . . . well, she fit. Then she left after telling me she loved me and it's . . . " I run a hand through my hair. "How can I put myself back into a situation that might lead me right back to that store?"

"Do you love her?"

Point blank. Like a shot, that question staggers me for I was unexpectedly set to say yes but closed my lips over that word, that word that could open me up to so much pain.

"It's not that easy," I remark instead.

"Nothing you want ever is."

A quiet falls between us and I so have to keep myself from running pell mell through the rocks screaming at the top of my lungs. Who'd've thought that one 3-minute sighting of Sara would cause such upheaval. What would happen if we spent more than ten minutes together? I might explode or something. Geez.

"Do you love her?" came at me again and I squeeze the bridge of my nose. I must be truthful or none of this works.

"I can't help but love her," I softly admit. "I loved her when she was here. I loved her when she left. I love her now. It's not something I can just turn off no matter how much I want to."

"You sound surprised."

"After all this happened I wasn't sure anymore," I slowly begin. "She hurt me and everyone knows how I reacted. So I put it away. I couldn't deal with both sides of me trying to make their point. And then I had a dream, a silly dream, about mending my heart and started to wonder if things could be different. Could I _let_ them be different. With our Emails and calls, I'm reminded of why I fell for her but that doesn't seem like a good enough reason to risk everything again."

"Sometimes it has to be."

"That's not enough, Philip."

"You've admitted you love her," he says looking directly at me. "Guard that, Gil. Guard it with your life because, one day, one day you'll see how much you're willing to take a chance on that alone if for no other reason than to feel the way you did before all of this hozmagah started."

"But how can . . ."

"Don't worry it to death," he interrupts then smiles. "Do what you've been doing and it'll find you again and settle in."

I have to ask. I don't want to know but I have to ask. "And if it doesn't?"

He put on a solemn face. "Then it wasn't meant to be in the first place."

Well, that cast a somber pall over everything. I turn back to my bobbing fishing pole and try not to think on what he's said. I _want_ it to be meant. But wanting and having are two wildly separate things and neither can be forced without repercussions of one kind or another.

I hear movement and look to see Philip getting to his feet. I guess my hour is up but then notice he's not packing up his stuff. He's just standing there staring at me and the look on his face is interesting as if he's contemplating the end of the world or something.

"You okay, Philip?" I ask, concern now making its mark.

"I'm considering doing something I'd already decided not to do," he tells me. He rubs at his cheek then takes a deep breath before picking up his cooler. He's holding it really tight.

"Okay, well, I want you to know that I won't hold you responsible for anything that happens after I make this suggestion."

Now _I'm_ getting worried since his knuckles are turning white around the cooler's handle. "Sounds good."

He nods. "Okay, I've been thinking of giving you a place where you can, without worry that you'll be bothered, tell your side of the story. You know, sit in a room and talk."

"Ah," I say drawing out the word since I'm confused. "I thought I was talking to you."

"No, well, yes, but that's not what I mean." A heavy breath leaves him. This was like pulling teeth. "I mean talk to someone else."

My frown is back. "Talk to whom?" I ask genuinely at a loss. I'm already talking to him. Who else is there?

He clears his throat. "To . . . Well, to Sara."

My mouth drops open (gaping like a fish would be more accurate) as my brows rise even further up my forehead.

"Gil, you're not gonna kick me into the lake or anything are you?"

I shut my mouth, a part of me thinking this would be really funny that a man Philip's size would worry a guy like me could do him physical harm. But then this isn't funny. Not right now anyway.

"No," I give back watching him slowly retake his place on the blanket.

"Well, what do you think?" comes his question and I shake my head a bit.

"I don't know." And hasn't that been my problem of late? "I almost fell over today seeing her for a few minutes. Now you want us together, in the same room, for an hour or more?" I can't keep the incredulity out of my voice. I'm nervous _now_. My hands are shaking and we're only talking about it.

"It would be a controlled environment, Gil, a place to air your dirty laundry, to let Sara air hers; a place to get it all out of your system. She left before you were able to talk to her, to tell her how you felt. This would be a perfect opportunity."

I look out over the lake, hear that hawk again and wish for a time machine. Although I've already wished for that innumerable times and had no luck. That's just not fair.

"Opportunity for whom?" I ask pinning him with a look.

"For you both."

I remain silent. For us both. A flash of hurt and grief smack me. What does she have to air? I was the one wronged. I was the one left behind without an explanation while she ran.

Trying to quiet my racing thoughts, I realize logic must play a part here. On the surface, I have to admit, having us in the same room sounds like a good idea since leapfrogging over the days and weeks of me getting up the nerve to speak to her again face-to-face may be too long even for me. Now, underneath . . . Underneath boils all my doubts and anxieties and wavering uncertainties that make me vulnerable, sending me back in time without the cozy confines of that much requested time machine. I waited a long time to sort out my own insecurities before taking the plunge the first time and now I have to go through it all again, now heightened by past experience. But this time my main worries aren't centered on time or lack thereof. What speeds to the front of the line is, after all the shoulds and shouldn'ts and whys and wherefores, will the right decision be made. Will the 'final answer' make me happy once again or miserable until the end of days.

Now you see why I'm having a hard time making decisions. I simply don't have any space left in my brain for more.

"Will you at least think about it?" Philip asks and I can tell from the look on his face he's thought long on this. And he is the one with a lot of experience so who am I to question?

I nod. Not a totally committed nod but a 'I guess I'm okay with it and maybe we'll try it' motion. He buys it and grins and I know what I'll be doing before the end of the day. Fortunately, Mom, Paul, the Fab Four and Jim are all on speed dial. Hell, I may even call Catherine. _May_ call Catherine.

Philip's pole bends and he gives out a holler and a smile, tossing out recipe ideas he'll pass by Gina on how to make his 'catch of the day' as he hauls in whatever is on the end of the line. I find a grin trying to surface but it doesn't get much past a faint tug at the corner of my mouth. Instead I sigh then groan at the dastardly thought that now takes up what little space I have left in my head.

I don't think fishing is going to help today.

And that's just a damn shame.

* * *

_I want to thank the person who gave me the idea of having S/G meet in a session to talk. I can't find it in my notes but wanted to give them credit so, if you remember who you were that offered up that gem, let me know so I can thank you proper._

_I hope you liked this bit. The smell of a chocolate chip cookie is the best and it floated my way while I was trying to find an opening for this part and it fit right in. I love it when that happens. Please read and review._

_The next part has just been started (a bit behind as usual) but I will work diligently on it and hope to have it to you soon. Thanks and cheerio (in honor of the Olympics). :-D_


	30. Chapter 30

_Howdy! Real life has, once again, pushed itself to the fore thus delaying my posting. Work is insane and I've just found out that my cat of 16 years has kidney disease which is terminal. Anyone out there who has pets knows what it's like to get news like that so I've been a bit off kilter. Which leads to my apologies for the lateness of this part.  
_

_I want to thank those lovely people who insist upon keeping up or are newly joining my story: Otie1983, Moonstarer, SarahmUK, DocMartinFanCrazy, sgrfan, SevernSound, NickyStokes72, stlouiegal, Hithui, leah-audresygramma and, of course, Nancy1._

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Part 30 – The next morning**

**Annie**

I'm sure I look like an idiot to Gil's neighbors since I've been standing on his doorstep for what seems like an eternity with my hand raised to knock. Have I knocked? No. Do I have a key? Yes. Am I going to use it? Are you kidding?

There's nothing worse, or so he's told me before, to barge into your son's house (or room, as the case may be) and discover something you shouldn't. It wasn't that I never expected him to be doing that I just didn't want to see it. I smile remembering how red he turned and how he wouldn't look at me the rest of the day. In fact, I had to take him by the shoulders as he scooted past and sit him down on the couch so we could discuss it. There was a lot of eye rolling then face covering and, finally, a shy smile when all was said and done. I always knocked after that for his benefit as well as mine. And now here I stand, in a surprisingly cloudy Vegas morning, hoping he won't be upset because I'm here. But, how could I not be here, especially after that worrying call.

It was about 4:30pm yesterday when the video call came in from Gil. I knew right then there was something going on because he only ever vid-called me when he was off somewhere far away or there was a problem. And, by the looks of him, there was a problem. I was immediately on my toes.

"Hi, mom," he said, his words typing out on the bottom edge of the screen.

"Hi to you, too. How're Hank and the kids?" I signed deciding to let him tell me what's wrong in his own time rather than trying to drag it out of him. He had a tendency to clam up when I did things like that.

"They're doing good. I didn't know how many hidey-holes were lurking in plain sight."

"Remember they were always squirreling away into tiny places while they were here. I think Hank would follow them but he's too big." He grinned then. Not a very 'Gil grin' but, at least, it was something. "So, you were supposed to talk to the Sheriff today."

"I did."

"And what did he say?"

"He was extremely accommodating," he said with a frown, "and I'm not sure why."

"Could have something to do with L.A."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I told him I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do so he gave me another couple of weeks to think about it. It threw me off a bit. I fully expected Ecklie to come raging out of the woodwork making hex signs and demanding I sign something in blood."

I giggled. "So you girded your loins for nothing?" I signed knowing him and how he dreaded anything political.

"Yeah. And I could've used that time to clean my bathroom."

I laughed outright at that and he looked rather pleased at my reaction. "_You_ are a silly boy." He grinned. "The Fab Four asked after you, wondering when you're going to come back for a visit."

"Was it me they were asking after or Simon?"

"Despite their claim of missing their daily fishing trips with 'Fin', I do believe 'Squirt' was mentioned more than once."

"I bring him along on one trip and I'm tossed aside like day old bait," he said, an exaggerated look of annoyance on his face, soon replaced with a startled expression as Hank pushed him out of the way to press a wet nose to the screen.

"Hello, Hank," I said laughing at how his ears popped up before he barked.

"You got the screen all wet, you crazy old man," came Gil's words and I smiled as he pushed him back down to the floor then wiped off the nose drool.

"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" (I know. I was going to wait. Sometimes I'm not good at waiting.)

He scratched his head then propped his chin on his hand. "I saw Sara today."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

There was a sorta smile there but it didn't come anywhere near his eyes. "Did you talk?"

"A little."

"Good."

He fell silent as a tail batted him in the face and I grinned, one or the other of the kids making their presence known. Pulling the tail away only gave way to a head butting against his hand and then I saw a true smile play across his lips. Aw, the power of animals.

"Philip wants us to meet, Sara and me," he finally said as another tail appeared.

"And what do you think of that?" I asked this since his eyes were solely on the kids.

He rubbed their bellies. "I don't know. What do you think?"

A lot of people ask that question and don't mean it. Fortunately I know my kid. He means it. "I think you should." He stared at me a moment then sighed, a heavy sigh since I could see it plain as day. "Since you didn't turn me off I'm thinking that's what you want as well." He shrugged. "Gil."

"I don't know," he finally answered.

"What don't you know?"

"It might not be a good idea."

"Why?"

He looks away. "I got mad when I saw her," types out on the screen. He does look slightly ashamed at the admission.

"You yelled at her?"

"No," he said looking askance at me. "Just inside my head," he finished with an embarrassed look.

"So she looked good, huh?" A surprised look came at me. "There's nothing worse than someone who's broken your heart insisting upon looking like nothing happened. Right?"

He chuckled a little then nodded. "She did look good. Old feelings rumbled in my stomach. I felt happy . . . and then I got scared," he admitted. "I don't want to go through that again."

"Oh, honey."

"You know how I am. Something happens and I expect it to happen again like when Dad died. I watched you like a hawk for months waiting to come home from school and find you, you know, like I found Dad."

"I know."

"Everyone keeps telling me that I have the upper hand but I don't see it. She just smiled at me today and I thought I was going to faint. How is that the upper hand?"

I'm watching him rub the kids, accepting their kisses, seeing Hank resting his head on the desk as close to Gil as he can get. This man, my boy, has so much love to give and I know he wants to give it back to Sara. I also know how hard it is to pick up the pieces once it falls apart. But that shouldn't stop a person from trying. Well, it's time for mama mode.

"Okay, Gil, I want you to remember that you asked for this. Here's what you need to do," I began, his full attention on me now. "You need to set the rules for this meeting and you need to follow them to the letter. No deviation even if things go south. Can you do that?"

"Ah . . ."

"Because you're going to have to work with her at some point, either as her supervisor or co-worker and, if the rules are set up in the meeting and agreed to, it will help what may come later. Unless, of course, you're going to start over somewhere else then you won't have to worry about any of this."

He grimaced at that and chewed on his bottom lip. "What kind of rules?"

Inwardly, I grinned. "One. Sara likes to make statements and walk away before you answer. That's what caused all this trouble. Don't let her do it. And the same goes for you. Don't walk away when you've made your last point. Sit there and take it, whatever happens." He grabbed for something off-screen. It was a pad of paper and a pen. Taking notes. Good boy.

"Two. She must tell you why she left."

"What if she won't?"

"Do you want to continue without that answer, Gil, 'cause I know it'll tear you up wondering."

He stared at me then shook his head. "No."

"Then push for it. Once she tells you why make her explain it. There's got to be some back-story that caused her to walk."

"She said I don't respect her."

"Do you?"

"Yes." Ah, a bit of anger surfaced there.

"Make her explain why she thinks that. In fact, get every little thing off your chest and into her ears because she needs to know that the man I saw on my doorstep was a beaten down mess. Yell if you have to. Whatever it takes."

"If I start I may not be able to stop."

"Good."

"I don't know."

"Gil, did you not tell me in loud angry words that you can't just switch off your love; that you can't get her out of your head?" Hesitantly, he nods. "Did I not have to take you to the hospital because you broke your knuckles fighting against a wall?"

"Yessss."

"She has to know everything or it won't be worth anything. Honesty will work for the better here no matter if it pains you or not. Without it, you'll have nothing." His scribbling stopped.

"I've always tried to be honest with her," he admitted.

"And you must be more so now. If she asks you a point blank question answer it as you would want it answered to you. It won't do you any good to start back up on a wobbly foundation." He rubbed his face again. I so wanted to reach through the screen and hug him. "And three. Tell her how seeing her made you want to faint. Tell her what you miss about her, what you long for. Maybe then she'll understand how what she did hurt you. That's where you have the upper hand." He just stared at the pad of paper for awhile then dropped the pen. "What's the matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair and looked thoroughly miserable. "I'm . . . I don't . . ."

"Gil, in your line of work don't you interrogate murderers?"

"You know I do," he huffed. It took a moment and he narrowed his eyes at me. "Sara isn't a murderer."

"In a way she is. She took your heart and stomped it, broke it into little pieces."

"Mom."

"I'm just saying that she might be sorry now but, at the time, she wasn't. You need to get the facts like any other case; take those facts and see what it tells you. And to get them you need to open your mouth and let it just flow. Stop being your taciturn self and speak up for yourself. Maybe your silence caused Sara to misinterpret things. You know how quiet you get when you're bothered."

"I'm not the one who left," he said, anger flaring in his eyes.

"No, you're not. And you tried to contact her. You tried until you couldn't bare it any longer."

"I did try. I tried to find her. I was ready to apologize for whatever I'd done."

"And why did you think you'd done anything?"

"Because I can be . . ." He stopped dead, then looked away.

"Gil, honey . . ."

"I didn't do anything but love her," appeared on the bottom of the screen. "My heart was open for her to see. I promised myself that I would give her that if she would give me the chance." He looked back, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. "And I did. I gave her that and more."

"And you want to give her that again."

He wrapped arms across his chest. "I do."

"Then have Philip set up the session and tell her everything. If she loves you like I think she does you'll be better off for it."

"And if she . . . What if she doesn't?"

"Then it wasn't meant to be." He paled considerably at those words and I knew I'd said something wrong. "Gil?"

"I've gotta go."

"Gil, wait. What are you going to do?" I quickly asked as his hand snaked toward the screen.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

And he was gone and I was flummoxed one minute and scared the next when he wouldn't respond to my many tries at contacting him and I realized there was only one thing I could do. I sprinted across the street to Paul's house.

We left early this morning, really early, and now I'm standing on my son's doorstep hoping the first thing Gil does when he sees that I'm here is let me do what I've been wanting to do since he left - hug him.

**Grissom**

We, Hank and I, have been sitting in our favorite off-leash dog park since sunrise. We were here last night as well, under the same shady tree where we've spent a lot of days throughout our time together. It's a place for him to run unchecked and take time with his buddies. For me it's a place to spend time outside during the day and to think without worry of being interrupted except by Hank and his 4-legged friends who insist upon me tossing out their ball.

Like now.

A slightly discolored yellow orb (that I'm sure was a ball at some point in its lifetime) appears between my feet. I glance up to see two of Hank's friends waiting expectantly and I can't help but oblige. Picking up the lopsided sphere, I lob it out for them to chase, trying to fling off the wet mess that sticks to my fingers. I don't even grimace any more at the globby, stringy goo which insists upon clinging to me. I've held far worse things in my career. Happy barks arise and I smile at their insistence about running after it like their lives depend on it then argue over who should bring it back for another toss and chase.

It's only then I discover that Hank isn't with them.

_Chuff, chuff._

I turn and raise my brows. Hank is still sitting next to me watching after his friends.

"Hank," I begin as he looks at me. "You have my permission to have fun. I'll be fine sitting right here until you're ready to leave." Tilting his head, I get the distinct impression he's trying to stare me into some kind of confession and I rub his ears. "Go on."

Appeased, he gives me a lick then hurries off. Ah, to be a dog where the only worries are going to the vet and fleas. But I must admit Hank is different. He does fret over me as I do over him and he was such a help at mom's, giving me his love and devotion and help with the kids. I know it will always be there. At least I can count on that.

Despite how it sounds I feel a little better than yesterday even though I didn't get much sleep last night. Too much thinking to let me close my eyes in slumber long enough to do any good. Maybe I feel better because it's cloudy today, the ravaging sun gone off to parts unknown for, hopefully, an extended stay to let my skin rehydrate. It goes without saying that Vegas is very different than Marina del Rey, the obvious first thing being no ocean breeze. Since I've been back my skin feels like it's drying up into a dehydrated husk and no amount of lotion gives relief. Second, there's no Paul to play chess with or the Fab Four to go fishing or Simon to enlighten me on the facts of life. And third, I can't take mom into my arms and hold on for dear life when the need arises.

I know. I'm whining. Sometimes you just have to.

The 'abstract' ball rolls between my feet again and I fling it back out, my mind meandering back to yesterday and the hastily placed vid-call to mom (which I ended rather abruptly) and the need to get out of the house, Hank and I going for a drive that lasted a few hours more than I'd intended, ending up right where I am now as the sun was leaving the sky.

Unclipping his leash, I told him to 'go forth and romp', a faint smile appearing as he obliged. Sliding down the tree, I watched him for a bit then dropped my head into my hands in hopes of easing the weight of remembering every little thing that occurred that day to no avail. (It never worked, my trying to forget stuff, but I kept trying.) I started a bit when a wet nose touched my hand and looked up into Hank's worried face along with three of his friends. I attempted a grin.

"I'm fine, boy. Go on. Have fun."

He whined then turned to his friends and snuffled at them. I would swear in court they nodded just before they left, leaving the two of us alone. He plopped down and leaned against me, my hand automatically coming to rest on his back and I was once again glad that I'd taken the time to bring Hank home hoping to surprise Sara and ending up surprising myself at how much he meant to me. He was one of the two constants in my life now, the other being mom.

Mom.

I rubbed my face and sighed again. Why did I hang up on her so quickly? I should've called back and apologized and told her how I felt instead of getting riled and walking away. Gee, isn't that what I accuse Sara of doing?

"You know, it would be nice to live close to mom again don't you think?" I asked of Hank who looked up at me as I glanced down. "You wouldn't have to stay at a sitter. You could see Simon whenever you wanted and so could I. I wouldn't have to resort to vid-calls or Email when I needed her. I could just go over; both of us could go over. She'd want to make us dinner and we could talk or play games or just sit in the same room. I need that sometimes. I should probably tell her that. I should probably tell her a lot of things." _Chuff, chuff_. "Yeah. I probably shouldn't have thrown away all those notes either."

Just then my phone began to jingle and hastily I pulled it to my ear without checking the ID. "Grissom."

"You didn't call," came Jim's voice and I grinned.

"If I remember correctly you said 'call me tonight'. Technically it's not tonight yet."

"It's nearly dusk which is, by definition, the time of day immediately following sunset. Sunset equates to evening. Evening means tonight. Therefore, in 2.5 seconds it will be tonight." 2.5 seconds followed. "Now it's tonight. Let's start with the Sheriff."

"Start?"

"Well, it was either that or the other 'S' word that may be verboten. I'm still not sure about that. So what did Elam say?"

"He wanted me to take back my supervisor job."

"And you said."

"I wasn't sure."

"Okay."

"Then he told me we would hire two more CSI's."

"Excellent."

"And he promised that Ecklie would leave us alone on pain of death."

"Okay, you're just messing with me now."

I chuckled. "Well, the pain of death part I added, but leaving us alone were Elam's own words."

"And then you said."

"That sounds good."

"Ah, okay."

"Then he suggested that Catherine and I share the supervisor job since the nightshift seemed to get a lot more cases than day or swing and it would seem reasonable that I might need help."

"That sounds like a plan."

"To which I said . . ."

"You weren't sure," he finished for me.

"Exactly."

"Was there anything you _were_ sure of?"

"Only that I needed another two weeks." Or more. Maybe many more.

"And he agreed?"

"Actually, he did."

"Wow, Gil, that's a lot of power you're wielding at present. You're finally in the catbird seat and I bet you don't even see it."

"Not really. It's just another decision I have to make when I can barely decide what to have for dinner."

I heard him laugh. "So what's really the problem?"

"I'm sorry?" I tried.

I admit it was an ill-conceived attempt to throw him off. I don't know why I think it will. Instead of saying anything, he remained silent which usually doesn't work with me, well, except for this time.

"Philip wants me to sit down with Sara for a little 'one-on-one' or, as he put it, air our dirty laundry."

"I think that's a splendid idea."

"So does mom."

"But you don't." I didn't really have to answer for Jim to know. "You need to do it, Gil. Think of it like removing a band aid. One quick rip and the pain lasts for seconds as opposed to carefully peeling it off and taking half your skin with it."

Mom thinks she's a murderer and Jim a band-aid. I'm still not sure what I think. "It might make things worse."

"You mean worse than staring down a gun barrel?"

I swallowed hard. I'll never forget that but don't necessarily want to be reminded of it.

"Oh, Gil, I'm sorry. That was out of line."

"It's okay, Jim."

"No, it's not. I, I just want you to be happy, Gil, no matter what."

"I know you do."

"And I think Philip has a good idea. Even if you don't say anything, just sit together in a room, it's a start, it's a way to feel each other out or begin to at least. Personally, I think the two of you belong together. You just fit. But I know, sometimes, fitting isn't enough."

I sighed. "It's a big step and, you know, I don't do big steps."

"I seem to recall you going to visit Syd Goggle by yourself. Oh, and there was that time you delivered a million dollars to Walter Gordon and nearly got yourself blown up."

"That was different."

"I know. You're heart wasn't involved."

I fiddled with Hank's collar. "I have to think about it."

"Yeah, well, remember what Winnie the Pooh said. 'Did you ever stop to think . . ."

". . . and forget to start again'," I finished for him.

"Exactly."

"Point taken," I answered with a nod.

"But will it stick?"

"Who knows," I answered with a shrug. Who really knows anything?

"Hang on a minute, Gil," came next as bits of conversation moved in and out of earshot, soon to explode moments later into a familiar voice.

"Man up, Gil," came Catherine's shrill voice making me pull the phone from my ear.

"That's my phone," I hear in the background and know Jim's been sideswiped.

"And it'll be yours again once I talk some sense into our boy. Gil, you need to listen. Are you listening?"

"Yes, ma'am," I automatically responded.

"That's better. If Philip thinks you should sit down in a room with Sara and tell her exactly what she did to you, then do it. Don't pussyfoot around this. Lay it down hard and make her cry. Hell, make yourself cry and take a chance. Obviously you still care or you wouldn't've been tongue tied in the hall this morning."

"How . .?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Probably not. "Take the bull by the horns, Gil. Tell her what you want. If she can't take it, well, she's not the person I've come to know these past months. She's changed, Gil, for the better. We've all seen it. Now you have to see it, too. That's all I have to say, well, for the moment so carry on."

"Ah, sorry about that, Gil," came Jim's voice again. "She snuck up on me."

"She's very good at sneaking."

"I think she practices on Lindsey. You okay?"

"I guess I better be or Catherine might just de-nut me."

"Made me shrink up just listening to her." I actually laugh a bit and it feels good, good to know I have friends like these. "Are we good?"

"Yeah, Jim, we're good. I'm glad you're willing to take the time."

"Ah, you've listened to my BS more than once. We're each others sounding boards."

"Okay. Well, now that it's officially evening, I'd better get Hank home. The kids are probably wondering where we are."

"You take care and call me if it gets too tough. We'll go get drunk or something. I mean that, okay?"

"I will. Thanks, Jim."

"Later."

I pocketed my phone and looked out over the field slowly emptying of free roaming dogs as the sky darkened. Everyone thinks I should do this. Everyone says it'll be good for me. Everyone isn't me. But, then, I haven't been making the greatest decisions of late (the fishing boat comes to mind) so maybe I should listen to everyone.

"What do you think, Hank?" I asked as he looked up at me. "Should I voluntarily walk into a room, sit down and spew my guts to Sara and, possibly, make her cry? Would that appease that little burst of anger I felt when I saw her this morning? Is it my goal to make her feel bad?" A giant howl erupted from him and I stopped. "And that was an answer to which question?" _Chuff, chuff_.

As we made our way home to snuggle up on the couch, eat ice cream and watch a documentary on sled dogs, it occurred to me that I should ask those questions of someone who can actually verbalize a bit clearer. Although it seemed he was telling me to get off my butt and do the damn thing. I could just add his thoughts to those of Jim and Catherine and Mom. How much clearer did it need to be? I chuckled, hearing Philip's voice in my head asking me if I'd finally decided to do this thing because my dog told me to then telling me 'good for you' when I admitted it.

Man, screwed either way.

Two balls appear between my feet and bring me away from a long night and back to the gray cloudy skies of a possibly better morning. When I look up there are five dogs looking at me with great zeal, Hank the tallest of the bunch.

"I suppose you told them I was an easy mark?" I ask of my boy who snuffles and I can't help but grin. "And you'd be right. I'll only do this once more then it's home we go."

A ball in each hand, I send them in different directions causing a flurry of activity and pulling a laugh from me as I stand. Time to go home, get some breakfast and see if I can 'man up' enough to do what I know I should do.

**Paul**

She's still staring at Gil's door. If I let her she'll stand there all day. Hell, it looks like it's going to rain so I'm either going to drag her back to that diner we passed on the way here or call Gil. One way or the other we're going somewhere. Swinging around into her peripheral vision, she turns toward me, a frown on her face.

"Don't you have a key?" I ask.

"I'm not barging in on him," she answers as my hands rise to rest on my hips.

"So, we're going to stand here all day?"

She drops her arm. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"Annie," I say. "You're worried. I knew you were worried last night and you're worried now but standing here, not knocking, isn't going to get you what you need." I hold out my phone. "Let me call him."

"No."

"Annie, he's not going to turn you away. You're his mom." I catch her eye and give her a smile. "Do you want me to knock 'cause if you don't we're either getting back in the car and getting breakfast or I'm calling."

"Or I could just let you both in," I hear from behind and my head snaps up, Annie noticing and following suit. "Hey, Gil," I say with a shy grin noting both he and Hank have their heads tilted in the same direction. "We were, ah, just in the neighborhood and thought we'd drop in."

A brow rises. "Just in the neighborhood, huh?"

"Well, kinda." What else could I say?

Shaking his head, Gil walks up to the door and unlocks it, pushing it open and waiting for us to enter. Quickly scooting Annie inside, I step to the side and out of the kids' way as they barrel into the room, ending up in a heap of cat fur and throw rug against the far wall.

"They do that quite regularly," Gil states just before pulling Annie into a hug.

Quietly, I sigh with relief knowing Annie will be content now and I can relax over on his big comfy looking couch. My butt barely touches down when I've a lap full of cats demanding attention and a happy dog trying to lick my face. And around this flurry of love, I can peek out at the Grissoms making up with signed words and big smiles and more hugs. They head toward the kitchen and I take the moment or two it will take them to remember I'm here and ogle the Gil-cave.

There are books galore, some stacked neatly, others shoved in any open space; butterfly displays adorn the walls along with charts and photographs of various insects, flowers and Hank. The couch where I'm sitting has a throw draped over the back and a cardboard box sits under the long coffee table. Peering inside, I smile. It's filled with cat toys and a few Hank toys as well. I've not seen any photos of Sara but maybe he took them down what with all that happened. I'd bet he has one by his bed (or did). That's where I've put Dory so I can say goodnight and hello each day.

Gil looks good. I was a bit worried when he left, not sure if he was coming back too soon, trying to make things right too fast. Men have a tendency to do stuff like that and hope it turns out for the best. But I know he has Jim Brass, and he's seeing Dr. Kane, too, so maybe I've been wasting my worry.

Hmm. It's awful quiet in the kitchen. I should probably go over and insert myself in the conversation otherwise how can I put in my two cents worth? Easing the kids onto the couch, I saunter over.

"Mind if I join in?" I ask as onto a chair I slip.

"Not at all," Gil says smiling at me. "Want some breakfast?"

"You don't have to make us . . ." Annie begins and I cut in.

"Yes, please. We're starved."

She looks at me and I smile pleasantly back. Gil chuckles and heads to the fridge.

"Cereal okay? It's all I have at the moment," he says and I okay it for the both of us as he pulls out the milk.

Watching him work is restful. First, I don't have to do the work and second, it's nice to see that he's comfortable . . . no, that's not the right word. He appears relaxed but I'm betting he's not what with this idea of sitting with Sara on the horizon. He's calm but that can't be either. (I'd be wound up tighter than a spring.) Maybe it's more a confidence level that I can see just in the way he moves. He'd recovered that bit of himself in California and it's still with him. This is good. I had visions of getting him good and drunk and beating some sense into him.

"I'm glad you're here," Gil says placing bowls of cereal in front of us. We both smile up at him. He looks like he's going to say more then turns back to put the milk away.

"Gil," Annie starts and he looks over his shoulder. "Have you made up your mind? You know . . . about Philip's suggestion?"

"No," he says with a shake of the head, grabbing his own bowl and sitting opposite us, eyeing both of us. "But, I'm going anyway."

He doesn't say anything else and starts to eat. Well, I can see getting drunk is looking better and better but for completely different reasons.

**Grissom**

That's right. I'm going anyway. And if I don't think about it too much this cereal will stay put.

"What changed your mind?" Mom asks and I cringe inwardly.

I've made up my mind. I don't want to talk about it. Why do I have to talk about it?

"You said something that twisted my gut."

I'm talking about it. Geez. I've no control over myself. I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS!

"I know what it was," she says and I sneak a look at her. "I figured it out while we were coming here."

"Well, are you going to tell me?" Paul asks and I grin. "Sorry, Gil, but you know I'm interested in your well-being as much as Annie."

I nod to him. I don't mind. Sometimes it's nice to have other people in the loop who know me so well. He kept me going when I needed it most. The least I can do is let him in.

"Gil asked me what if Sara doesn't love him and I foolishly said then it wasn't meant to be."

"It wasn't foolish, Mom," I say and touch her hand. "Philip told me the same thing. It was just hard to hear twice on the same day."

"I'm so sorry, honey."

"Don't be." I smile at her. "In order for me to move forward I have to close the wound and if that means sitting in a room with Sara then . . . then that's something I'll have to do. There are worse things than regret but nothing sticks in your craw like it and I need to know if I can move on and in order to do so I have to try things that tend to bring on bouts of hurling." I grin a bit then sober up. "I don't want to always wonder if I'd just done this one thing, my life would've been better."

Mom squeezes my hand. I can see tears in her eyes and know there are some in mine.

"Don't tell the guys I said this," Paul starts, "but I think we need a group hug."

I couldn't help the laugh that came or the fact that I was already out of my chair and heading their way. I guess I did want to talk about it. Now if only I can do the same with Sara.

* * *

_Possible creative license alert: The video call with transcribed text on the screen may or may not be available but I needed to have Grissom/Annie speak and didn't want to use the TDD device.  
_

_Well, the next part (31) is the set up for the part after that (32) - the BIG SESSION between G/S. I hope you liked this bit. I wanted to bring back Paul/Annie and thought this would be the best way. Please leave reviews. You know how I am. :-D  
_


	31. Chapter 31

_I'm baaaaccckkk! My most humble apologies for the lateness of this post. It's been an absolutely insane October what with our annual inventory at work, wondering about the continuance of my job and work, work work. (Fortunately, I managed 11 hours of overtime to go toward my lay off account.) I also had a bit of writer's block which didn't help matters in the slightest. Oh, and there was that starting work on the BIG session (Part 32) and finding out I had a few facts wrong and having to go back and reread the entire story just to make sure I didn't flummox up a bunch of stuff._

_Whew! It's just been insane. So, I want to make sure I thank the following hangers-on who stick with me no matter how long it takes: TessTrueHeart, SarahmUK, RollWithIt, DOCMARTINFANCRAZY, Moonstarer, SevernSound, spottedhorse, Otie1983, stlouiegal, NickyStokes, Hithui, leah-audreysgramma and, as always, last but not least, Nancy1. You guys keep me going._

_Now, without further ado, onward ~_

* * *

Part** 31 **

**Sara – 1 day later - 9:00pm**

I've never really sat for any length of time in a casino. I should do it more often. It's a great place to watch people. And, while tourists should stand out, they don't always. They don't all wear Hawaiian shirts and socks with sandals.

Gil wears Hawaiian shirts. Really God awful ones. But he makes them look good.

Oh, back to people watching. Well, it's better than sitting at home watching the clock and listening to my stomach grumble as it ties itself into knots. And why would it be doing that? That's simple. Tonight is the night Gil and I sit down and talk.

Just the two of us.

Together.

And talk.

Together.

I'd puke but there's nothing left to come up.

I was doing pretty well – smiling at any ol' thing, eating, coming up with answers and tying up a case or two. Everyone seemed pleased that I was happy. And so was I. Then my phone rang.

"Sidle."

"Sara. Philip here," came his vibrant voice. He always sounds happy. How can that be when he listens to people's complaints day after day. It would make me crazy.

"Hi," is all I say. I check my watch. It's 1:00am. The man is up late.

"I wanted to catch you before you reported for your shift but got tied up. Gina's starting to organize our daughter's graduation party for the fall and it's already becoming a BIG deal and put me behind schedule. She usually waits until we're knee deep before calling me in. I'm an organizational wizard."

I smile. "That's fine."

"Well, I feel I shouldn't hold you to that until you've heard what I have to say."

Ah, oh. That can't be good. "Well, I won't know until you tell me."

"Right," he says with a slight laugh. "Okay, here it is. I would like for you and Gil to meet, one-on-one, to discuss things, to try and figure out where each of you stands. What do you say?"

My mouth gapes open. I would've stared at the phone if it would've made a difference. Instead I think I must've blanked out for the next thing I knew someone was calling my name.

"Sara? Sara, are you still there?"

"Ah, yeah," I answer, shaking my head. "Um, yeah, I'm here."

"I know this seems out of left field but I believe it'll be good for the both of you."

"Did you speak to Gil about this?"

"I did."

"And he thought it was a good idea?"

"No, not really," he said straight out. Now how was I supposed to take that?

"Oh," is all I can answer.

"But now he's on board."

"So you talked him into it?"

"Actually, no."

This was like pulling teeth. "So he didn't want to do it now he does?"

"Exactly."

"You know how that sounds, right?"

"This is not going the way I thought it would," he said with a sigh. "Let me start at the beginning. We had a session and I brought it up. He was reluctant. Actually, I think it was something that hadn't occurred to him. He went home, gave it some thought and called me, requesting that I set it up. No coercion involved. I swear. I'm doing my Boy Scout salute since you can't see me."

Well, this was a new wrinkle. I nearly had a cow when I spoke to him the other day and now we would have to be in the same room . . . for longer than a few minutes . . . talking.

"If you're hesitating because Gil didn't place this call, don't. It's my place, as his counselor and yours kind of, to get this going without the two of you having to worry about things. I pick the date and time and you show up. No need to add the worry of organization. That's my bailiwick. Just ask Gina."

Why am I hesitating? Why am I not yelling thank you? Why haven't I pinned him down for a time and date? I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to see him. I wanted to explain my horrible behavior. I wanted . . . Wanted.

I _want_ to talk to him. I _need_ to talk to him.

And I feel like I'm going to puke.

"Sara?"

"Um, can I call you back?"

"Sure. I'll . . ."

"Thanks."

My mad sprint to the bathroom was barely in time and I spewed into the sink. Didn't even care if anyone else was in the room. Oh, boy. What kind of a reaction was that? The man I love wanted to meet and talk and I'm puking my guts out.

I know. Nerves. And what do I have to be nervous about? Well, how about I threw away the man I love over something stupid. And what will he ask? Why did I break his heart? And what will I say? I'm stupid! And what kind of an answer was that?

I'm screwed. I can't do this. I don't want anyone else listening in when I admit what I did. Who wants other people knowing what a bitch you are? But then everyone already knows, including Philip. I spilled to him. Catherine knows. Jim and Doc Robbins, Nick and Greg, Warrick and Hodges. They all know.

And Gil knows. He knew it first, right when I broke him.

Why would he want to step back into 'Sara's world' anyway? It's dark and chilly and filled with bad thoughts, bad memories, hard times. Some of my own doing and others . . . I can't help how I grew up but promised myself I would never interfere with how I lived and yet how can it not?

Ducking into a stall, I shut the door and sat on the toilet. I should probably talk to someone about this. Philip popped into my head as the best bet. Ya think? He has insight into Gil (which, I guess, is cheating) and can help. Or I can go to Jim. He knows a different side of Gil but he's already helped me so much. I'm not sure . . .

My head dropped into my hands. What am I doing?! If I say no that'll be it. Gil will never talk to me again. He'll leave CSI. He'll turn back into that non-emotional stick (as I called him – daft!) and get as far from me as possible. I'll never see him again.

Ever.

Christ. I'm such a dunce.

My phone appears in my hand. It practically dials itself and is up to my ear in record time.

"Philip Kane."

"I'll do it," I shouted without preamble. "Ah, this is Sara. I'll do it."

"Okay," he answered quite enthusiastically. "I'll set it up and get back to you. I'll attempt to work around your schedule."

"Whatever Gil wants is fine with me."

"I'll let him know. He'll be very pleased."

"I'm already nervous," I blurted out then chewed on my bottom lip.

He laughed. "You're both in the same boat. It'll be fine, Sara."

"Yeah, okay."

"I should have the info tomorrow."

"Okay. Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome. Have a good shift."

"Bye."

I stared at the phone. Now I've done it. I've either committed the second biggest mistake of my life or the best thing in my life.

And I puked again.

"Sara?" Oh, crap. Catherine. "Sara, I'm coming in."

I'd get up but I'm too wobbly so stayed on my knees. I heard her heels moving across the floor, then a stall door squeaking open then something else. I couldn't tell what the noise was until . . .

"If you let me in I'll hold your hair," comes at me from above and I don't have to look up to know that noise was Catherine stepping on the toilet. I can't help but chuckle.

"I should never have had that pineapple juice," I commented.

"If it came from Greg, of course not," she said, her voice moving. "Let me in." Slowly, I opened the door. "So, what did he do?" she asked as she handed me a wet towel.

"Who?" I answered wiping my mouth.

"Gil. Who else?" I frowned. "The phone call?" I frowned some more. "Nick told me you got a call then raced in here."

"Ah," I said with a small shake of my head. "It wasn't Grissom."

"You know, you can call him Gil if you want."

I looked up at her. "I don't . . . He was Gil at home, Grissom at work. Since I don't have home anymore . . ." I shrugged and she backed off.

"That's okay. So who was it then?"

I take a moment to decide whether or not I should give her a colorful version of mind your own business then dismissed it. She'd find out soon enough.

"Philip Kane. He wants Grissom and I to have a sit down," I said, my hand heading toward my roiling stomach.

"Sounds like a plan," is all she said and I looked at her like she had two heads. She sighed. "Sara, right now you're nervous but it is infinitesimal compared to how you'll feel when you sit down across from him."

"Oh, that makes me feel much better."

"Just getting you prepared." She smiled at me and I found I had one too. "When does this hoedown take place?"

"Philip's going to call with the info. He said he'd work around my shift but . . ."

"Just let me know and I'll give you the time." I'm surprised and it showed. "No matter what I think of you or what happened, Gil is making great strides here to remedy his life and I'm behind him 100%. If you are what he wants then I'm behind you 100%. You've changed, Sara, these last months, for the better. He needs to see that. He wants to see that."

"He does?"

Her mouth flopped open then closed and I knew what she was thinking – she'd said too much. She rubbed her forehead and stepped back to lean against the sink. It seemed like she was trying to decide something. And then it came.

"Gil loves you, Sara. He can't help but love you and always will even if you repeated everything that's happened. He's hopelessly, desperately in love with you and, for him, _you_ are it. So, for Gil I'll put aside my opinions and stand firm by both your sides until he decides he's had enough. Once that happens, the gloves come off and I follow through with my warning from months ago."

She pushed away from the sink, fiddled with her hair then smiled at me. "Now, would you like to go home or stay until you get the 'date and time'." She waved her fingers in the air and lowered her voice to give it the gravitas it needed and then actually laughed.

"I'll stay."

"Good. Warrick could use a hand with the Beckett shooting."

I nodded. "Thank you, Catherine."

She smiled and headed toward the door. "Don't thank me yet. Warrick's processing their sump pump."

My face squenched up and I leaned my head against the stall. I would be taking a number of showers before the night was over.

And that was just a little over 20 hours ago. When his next call came at 8:15am, Philip apologized that the only time he could get was 9:30pm but it was the best time and place for our little 'soiree' as he so impishly put it. When he told me to head to the Mandalay Bay, I didn't even bother to ask why. I simply said okay, tried to get some sleep (ha!), tried to eat something more than nothing (a bit of ice cream) and tried not to show up four hours early (only 30 minutes) to see if Gil would show.

And that's where I am now, waiting impatiently in the lobby with a full view of the door to see if he actually comes. Of course, it's occurred to me that he might use another entrance but this is where my butt landed and this is where I'll stay. The clock at the front desk shows 9:08pm. I've got 22 minutes to get up the gumption to stand and walk and ask for Philip. I'm trying to think on the odds Warrick would give for me actually being able to get to my feet let alone go through with this. I keep hearing 'I think I can, I think I can' in my head.

I think I need a Ginger Ale.

**Grissom**

Okay, I'm here. I almost didn't make it at all. Perhaps I should explain.

Yes, I made the call to Philip to set up this meeting, fought with him very little on who should ask her, agreeing (rather quickly for me) that, as my counselor, he should make the call. However, when he called back with Sara's agreement, well, well, that put a different spin on it. I thought I'd never get out of the bathroom.

Reality is a far different creature then what you have in your head where everything works out, no one argues, and you don't do foolish things. Of course, I've been living reality for some time now and the saying is true - reality bites. Well, on that thought I'm going to turn on the radio while I contemplate the gurgling in my stomach.

You know this reminds me of the time I sat outside the LAPD trying to be brave enough to go inside. I sat there for a spell and thought on all the horrible things I would encounter and worked myself into a tizzy. This? This is a hundred times worse. That was my work. This, this is my life. I used to think the two were the same. They aren't. They sure as hell aren't.

I rub at my mouth, then cover my eyes, trying to listen to the song. The tune is nice; the singer has a . . .

"_'When you know that you know who you need, you can't deny it. Or go back, or give up, or pretend that you don't buy it. When it's clear this time you've found the one, you'll never let him go. Cos you know and you know that you know.'_"*

I stare at the radio then shut my eyes against the sudden ache I feel. I can't deny it, my love for Sara. I've tried but know it's still there, hidden somewhere, every once in awhile leaking out to touch me, to warm me. I shy from it only because it scares me, the power of it I mean, to make me do something I'm not ready for.

Life is too complicated and one of the reasons I shut everything out for so long. Letting Sara in let life in. But it also let in complications, hurt feelings, odd moments of blissful happiness and clarity.

Clarity.

Eyes fall to my cast and the spider decal, or what's left of it, and I wish I wasn't so afraid of things like clarity. I wish for the uncomplicated, straightforward, unfussy way children look at things, seemingly unafraid to voice their opinions and envy them their honesty. It would seem the world would be much easier to deal with if everyone was honest. And then again, maybe not as the image of Catherine standing over a bleeding Ecklie shouting 'they're real, you dickwad' springs to mind.

So, maybe it's right that only kids are honest, at least, for a little while. Simon is still in that honest stage and being with him got me tthinking in ways I'd let go of many years before. It was eye-opening and telling in more ways than one and I craved his company because of it. It sort of evened me out and put me back on track.

I'd given him a trip to the zoo as a birthday present for as many of his friends as he wanted to invite. Turned out he only wanted to take me. I tried, half-heartedly, to talk him into picking some others but he flatly refused so I acquiesced accordingly, secretly pleased at his choice. A time was set and off we went, myself tucked into the backseat with Simon, our backpacks, my camera and binoculars and a small cooler stuffed in with us. Mitch and Clare Remington were upfront, trying to pull me into their conversation whenever Simon took a breath (which was few and far between). I was having the time of my life. Once we arrived and took the tour, lunch was upon us. But, before I could even sit down, Simon was insisting we head to the butterfly exhibit. His 'lunch'll still be there when we're done' was logical so I made sure his parents didn't mind then followed where he dragged me.

The exhibit was large, filled to brimming with all sorts of butterflies and very few people which gave us the perfect opportunity to find a space to sit and identify all of the varieties on the checklist they'd provided. Simon's questions were endless and I was more than willing to share, giving him all sorts of information before I realized that he was 7 and may not find their mating habits as terribly interesting as I did and began to tailor my litany of facts.

I was pointing to a Swallowtail that landed on a wispy fern and was explaining how there were 550 different types found on all continents except Antarctica, when a Blue Morpho landed on my outstretched finger bringing me to silence. I heard a soft intake of breath and didn't dare move for fear the Morpho would leave.

"Beautiful," Simon whispered in a quiet awestruck voice. The edge of my mouth pulled up for that was the same word that popped into my head. "Are they all blue?"

"No," I began. "Some are green, yellowish-orange even white. When you look at a white Morpho from different angles they have purple and teal colors as well. It's like they're shimmering. The males tend to live alone and they are prized by wealthy collectors."

"How long do they live?"

"About 115 days."

"That's not very long."

"Not to us but who knows how much time that is to a butterfly." I glanced at him seeing his mouth forming an 'o' as the Morpho decided there were greener pastures elsewhere and drifted off.

"That was great," he said, all smiles as he made sure to check off his list. "Do you have a wife?"

My brows moved up my forehead rather quickly and my mouth dropped open. Well, that came out of nowhere. "Ah, no," I tentatively answered.

"Why not?"

I've not spent much time with kids but I had gotten a taste of this at Simon's birthday party. But that doesn't stop me from stumbling along. "Um, well, there's . . . You have to . . ." Hmm. There just weren't any words to be spoken so I decided to stop. It didn't deter him.

"Do you like anyone?"

What a loaded question. I cleared my throat. I did like someone. I used to have someone. I wished I still had her. "I do," came out of me and, by then, it was too late to take it back.

"Does she like you?"

According to Jim, she did. "Supposedly."

An Orange Sulphur landed on Simon's knee at that moment and I thought he'd be distracted and, while he gazed at it for a few moments, he then looked back at me. "You don't know?"

So much for distraction. I guess I was in this for the long haul. "I thought she did but . . . things change." He continued to stare at me. "It's hard to explain." He gave me a nod and a look that spoke volumes. Apparently, Simon was an old soul.

"Rilly told me once," he began, checking off the Sulphur, "that if you love someone you'll always love them no matter what. It's something that'll be there even if you don't know it."

"Why wouldn't you know it?" I asked as three Mourning Cloaks skittered past.

He shrugged. "It's like it's sleeping or something until you need it."

I guess I didn't need it yet since I'd not thought to look for it for awhile. It was bruised when I put it away, pushed it away into the dark and out of sight. I couldn't function with it sitting in the light to mock me. And yet, lately, I'd found that I'd like to feel that again if only for an hour or two, see if it meant the same as it did or if it was salvageable at all which is what I feared most. A splash sounded to my left and a Gorgon Copper was trying to balance itself on a leaf in the small pond and found that I could very easily substitute myself for the butterfly - unsure as to what was to come.

"How, um, how do you wake it up?" I finally asked, glancing at him.

He shrugged again. "When you need it, it just does."

A simple answer to a complicated question that didn't fit in with what I was expecting or feeling. That would explain its absence. "Oh," I said before releasing a sigh causing Simon to look at me.

"I suppose you could tell her. That would probably be the quickest way."

I smirk a bit then nod. "Probably."

He grinned and our conversation moved off that topic and back to our list of butterflies as if it had never been, neither of us leaving until all of the photos had checkmarks by them. As the staff made sure we had no hitchhikers on our clothes before we left the exhibit, I felt his hand slip into mine and hold on tightly. I quickly looked down to find him peering at me with much more understanding than I'd thought possible for a child.

But I learned. I soon came to rely on his insights, insights that were free of the constraints of age and life, success and failures. I miss him. I should give him a call tomorrow . . . assuming I'm still in one piece tomorrow.

My phone jingles and I pull it from my pocket. Tapping at the screen, mom, Paul, Hank and the kids appear, all sitting on the couch. Mom's holding a sign that reads 'If at first you don't succeed, do it like your mother told you!' while Paul's sign is plain and to the point - 'Kapla!' I laugh. There's not a more appropriate Klingon word than 'success' at this point in time. Of course, there's always 'today is a good day to die' but that seems rather permanent.

I rub my neck. Man, I've been watching too much Star Trek with Paul. Another laugh rumbles through and I shake my head. They've done it again - bolstered my flagging nerve as only they can. I cherish them so much.

My watch beeps and I look quickly at the time: 9:16pm. 14 minutes. I have another 14 minutes before who knows what. I can sit right here and run in at the last minute or head on home. Of course, if I head on home, my house guests will throw me out. I don't like being late. It's not in my nature. Maybe this one time . . .

_Better late than not at all - Everything comes too late for those who wait - You may delay but time will not._

Stop quoting, get out of the car and go in there!

_Time waits for no man._

Had to get in one more.

**Sara**

There he is!

There he is. Stay out of sight and calm yourself.

He didn't come through the front doors. The elevator. He must've come off the elevator. Now he's walking up to the counter. The woman is pointing over her shoulder. He nods then heads that way. His steps seem confident. I don't see him sigh or wipe at his brow. He stood straight. And he's 10 minutes early.

I have to get up; get up and follow after him. We should go in together.

My legs aren't working!

I slump back in my seat and clutch at my Ginger Ale trying to breathe slowly. He's here. I'm here. We're here together. This is really happening. Not that I didn't think it would. When Gil makes up his mind about things, unless he has good reason, he usually follows through. And he followed through today.

God, he's here.

I'm here.

We're here.

I'm going to puke!

Without so much as a higher brained thought, I'm on my feet and bolting out the door, the brisk evening air slamming me in the face.

I can't be here. I shouldn't have okayed this. I'm not . . . He's just going to . . .

I shout into the night drawing stares and glares from one security guard. I attempt a feeble smile then move off, car keys in hand.

I never should've come.

Why did I agree to this?

Coward!

I duck into the parking garage.

* * *

_Okay, say it. I'm evil. You've waited this long and now this?! EVIL! I am aren't I? Ah, but you know they're going to talk so don't sweat it. Besides, this is what happens when I'm way behind schedule._

_Now that I've brought that up please note it might be a month before Part 32 is ready what with the job, the holidays starting and my annual Rudolph Ebay sale getting into full swing. I shall attempt to shorten the timeframe and may have to break it up into multiple parts if G/S find a bunch to say but it will be posted. Again I can't thank all of you enough for your reviews, glad tidings and helpful suggestions._

_Happy Halloween, get out of the way of Sandy if she's coming for you and Happy Thanksgiving just in case I miss out on that. Happy trails!_

_*Song lyrics from Shawn Colville's "When You Know"_


	32. Chapter 32

_Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Season's Greetings! Happy almost New Year!_

_I've finally manged to wrestle together this next section. It took some doing (more time than I thought - sorry). It fought back but I kept at it and managed to come up with something that I think is pretty good but what do I know. And, because of the time it's taken to get it to you, I've split it up into 3 parts (like The Hobbit films). The reason - fact checking. I'm doing my best to make sure I've not made some huge mistake in the continuity before I post because I know you guys will point out my errors (which I totally appreciate). I'm crossing my fingers that there aren't any or, at least, very few.  
_

_So, now that baking for work is over, my eBay Rudolph sale has ended, the world is still here and we're going into the Christmas stretch, I give you Part 32 - A. I hope you like it.  
_

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Part 32 - 1 day later - 9:30pm**

**Philip**

"She's not coming," comes from Gil and I glance at the clock.

"She's only one minute late."

He looks at me. "Sara is never late. In fact, she's usually extremely early." He turns back to the aquarium, rubbing a finger along his chin. "I thought she'd come."

That last bit was very quiet and I cringe. Things are about to go downhill real fast.

And then the door opens.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Sara announces as she hurries through the door stumbling a bit in her haste and barely keeping hold of the can of ginger ale in her hand.

Gil whips around, keeping a hand on the wall to steady himself and I grin with relief as I stand, wondering if I dare walk between the two for fear of breaking the spell that seems to have taken hold of the both of them. But break it I must. We're here for more than staring, although I can't guarantee anything.

Ah, well, I'll let them stare awhile longer.

**Sara**

He looks good; a little worried, but good. I look like crap but then that's what happens when I can't keep anything down and my mind's been whirling so much since Philip called that sleep is far from being embraced. I so wanted to be together for this and that so didn't happen.

**Grissom**

She looks pale. She looks tired, too. That's not how she looked the other day.

"Are you all right?" I ask before I can stop myself.

She brightens. "I'm nervous," she answers with a bit of a laugh and I'm shocked. Not that she's nervous. That she said it.

"Me, too," I admit and now I've shocked myself.

'Honesty' rings in my ears and I hope mom continues to remind me of this as we plow through today 'cause I'm pretty sure I'm going to forget it at some painful point.

**Philip**

"Okay, how about we sit down and get this shindig started?" I say more than ask pointing toward the couch.

Standing in front of the only comfy chair I've already claimed, I wait for them to sit. This part is usually the most revealing. Will they each take a corner? Will one stand while the other sits? Or will they both sit and stand as the mood strikes them like jumping beans?

In this case, they both choose a corner of the couch – Gil to the left of me and Sara to the right with a nice soft cushioned space in-between. She's squished tightly in, both hands wrapped about her ginger ale. Gil leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together staring at the carpet. Silence has filled the room.

Well, this is what I get paid for.

"I want to thank both of you for not casting me into the unsolved case file when I suggested this get together," I say, trying unsuccessfully to cut through the building tension, getting only nods from the both of them.

Hmm. Let's start somewhere else.

"I was surprised that neither of you questioned my desire to meet at the Mandalay Bay."

"I figured you had your reasons," Gil quietly puts in and I grin.

"I did," I say. "The owner of this establishment owes me a favor, owes me a lot of favors actually, so I took him up on one. We are sitting in the VIP section with a full bar, room service and as much time as we might need. The exclusivity of this area works to our benefit in that no one knows we're here and that includes the press." I glance toward Gil. "You raised a concern about that."

"I didn't want them hounding Sara," he says kind of looking her way but not really.

"They nearly blinded you the other day. They're piranhas," she adds with a foul look on her face.

"And are not needed here," I add. "The fact that this room has a rather large aquarium is also what made up my mind," I continue drawing puzzled looks from both. "Gil, don't you find fishing to be a calming activity?"

He squints at me then realizes I expect an answer. "It's not just fishing. It's the boat, fresh air, the camaraderie. If you're comfortable with the people around you it doesn't really matter if you catch any fish."

He looks uncomfortable as he says that but, then so does Sara. I just push on through anyway.

"That's true. An entire experience such as you've described is very beneficial to someone in your line of work or a doctor or veteran who needs time to decompress. Sitting back and watching fish swim serenely by has been proven to decrease blood pressure, pulse rate and muscle tension and by doing that will reduce anxiety and improve sleep. Hence the other reason why I chose this place."

I look at the both of them and watch as they eye the aquarium and don't notice one iota of relaxation overtaking them. Well, it sounded good at least.

"Now that that is out of the way I wanted to make sure all of us know why we're here. Gil?" He looks startled and clasps his hands together. It's a nervous tic I've seen over the years, just a bit more pronounced of late. "You're here because?" I coax.

Unclasping his hands, he places them on his knees, frowns then seems to make up his mind.

"I wanted to, um, cut to the chase I guess."

"Meaning?" I hold his steady glare and watch his hands move back together. I think he'd huff if he thought it would do any good.

"I have a tendency to let grass grow underfoot," he says in a long drawn out sentence. He eyes me but I remain mute. "While I was happy with our conversations," he continues as he turns to Sara, "I know me well enough to understand we could still be doing that 10 years from now." A tiny grin forms then fades. "I don't want to do that again, especially if there's any possibility that, well, that we . . ."

"That we might be able to make something work?" she hesitantly asks.

Gil has a pinched look about him that eases only slightly as he slowly nods. "Someone said I needed to take charge of things, to not get in the way of myself. I guess . . . I guess this is me doing that."

"It's new," Sara says and Gil looks kind of embarrassed.

"Yeah."

She smiles then. "I like it."

He shrugs, another thing he does when there are no words.

"And Sara," I begin, turning my attention away from him to catch her eyes drifting my way. "You're here because?"

"Um, I'm here because I decided long ago that I would do anything to make sure Gil understood how very sorry I am for what I did. No matter what it takes, no matter what I have to do, I'll do it." Her eyes shift to him. "I, too, am happy with our conversations. It's like getting to know you all over again. And I don't want to lose that. It means a great deal that you even take the time. It means, maybe, sometime you might think of me as your friend again. That was always important, being your friend."

"I could always rely on your friendship," he admits.

She grimaces then pushes the look away. "I want you to know that you can again."

They eye each other before Gil glances down to his hands. She does the same and we're at that silence part again.

"Now that we know why we're all here," I begin, "I was thinking we should start off with a question."

"A question?" Gil asks, puzzled and . . . yeah, slightly annoyed.

I so want to shout 'we can't fix this in a blink of time' but that wouldn't be very shrink-y of me. I _am_ the epitome of patience (which aggravates Gina like nothing else).

"Yep. I thought it would be a good idea for each of you to ask the other a question, any question. It can relate to anything prior, during and/or after everything that's occurred over the past so many months or something else entirely." They both stare at me. This might be harder than I thought. "Ah, something like did you eat all the fish you caught while in California, Gil?" I suggest to Sara then glance at Gil. "Did Nick really take care of my bugs, Sara? The question may be simple or complicated. It's up to you."

Neither look at the other. There's no time limit here. My calendar is clear for the rest of the day. Although I hope it doesn't go through dinner. Gina's making pot roast and . . .

"How's Simon?" Sara asks.

There's a grin forming on Gil's face. That always happens when Simon's name is mentioned. Sara made a good choice. Let's see where it goes.

**Sara**

His whole face lights up when I mention Simon's name. I can't dwell on how it used to do the same for me.

"He's good," he answers. "He has a new friend. Hairy Potter."

"Harry Potter?"

Now he's smiling. "Hairy. H-a-i-r-y."

"Hairy."

"Simon got a real kick out of telling me that," he says with a quiet chuckle. "We're both Potterphiles," he explains.

"And Hairy is?"

"A boxer. Seems the Remington's were so taken with Hank's ability to help Simon be like his old self, they rushed right out and got him one."

"You did that, too. Helped him."

A shy look crosses his face. "That's what they tell me. But I can't be there all the time. Seems Hairy is a good substitute."

I hesitate then forge ahead. "Do you _want_ to be there all the time?"

Tilting his head, he purses his lips. "I kinda do," finally comes out. "Simon was, _is_, a great help to me."

Damn. He _wants_ to be there.

"When do you see him next?" I force myself to say, trying to keep my tone light.

"In a couple of weeks. He's graduating," he grins. "I promised I'd be there. I'm not really sure what to get a 7 year old for a present."

"A pooper scooper?" I say and he chuckles.

"I was thinking more like dog obedience school tuition. Boxers can be a handful."

"I remember. My shoes will never be the same," I say with a slight laugh.

He looks uneasy. "Mine either," he finally says and I close my eyes for a moment.

Damnit! Now I've brought up a memory from us. I never should've done that. I don't want him to think . . . Argh!

"Have you, ah, heard from the guys at the LAPD lately?" I quickly add in hopes of glossing over my faux pas. "You haven't said."

"A couple of days ago actually." He fiddles with his shirt. "Peter was . . . He was wondering when I'm coming back."

God, will this ever end?

"Are you?" I quietly ask.

Leaving his shirt alone, he looks at his hands. "I'm . . . undecided at present." His eyes come back up and lock with mine.

Everything depends on this time we're sharing – how it feels to be in the same room longer than a minute; how I respond and if my answers are honest enough to his ears. We're sitting at opposite ends of the couch not so far from each other but far enough.

"If you were a consultant, you could move between places. Share yourself with a bunch of people," I give back hoping he can't hear the tremble in my voice.

"That's what Conway suggested. But he's sneaky so I'd have to have a lawyer look over any contract he'd give me."

There was a smidgen of a smile after that statement. I could hear it in his voice as well. I'd heard it before, that smile, when he'd spoken of his time in L.A. There he didn't have any bad memories. Only here.

Only here.

"How . . ." I begin but Philip interrupts me.

"Sara, that's way more than one question."

I close my mouth. "Sorry. I just . . . I wanted to get them out before . . ." Before I forgot, before I ran out of nerve, before the shit hit the fan.

"I don't mind," Gil says looking at Philip.

"So you don't have any questions?"

Gil narrows his eyes. I've seen that look before, usually right before he blasts someone, but what comes out is calm if a bit cool.

"I'd like to hear her next question if that's okay?"

Philip takes a moment before looking at me. "Go ahead."

I look between the two then forge ahead. "How did you hurt your hand?"

I know. Gil told me he tripped and fell into a wall. It wasn't so much what he said but how he said it that didn't ring particularly true. His voice changes tone when he's not being entirely truthful or leaving something important out. I've never been sure if he even notices it. And this question will tell me a lot about what will follow. But I won't quibble if he sticks to his story because if he can't bring himself to tell me the real reason he broke his hand then I'll just have to live with that.

It's not like I've much choice nor do I have any right ask for one.

**Grissom**

How did I hurt my hand?

Great.

I liked her other questions. Hell, I liked Philip's question better. Yes, between mom, Paul and the Fab Four, we pretty much ate all the fish I caught. Good answer, easy answer and it means nothing answer.

'Honesty.' Yes, I know, mom. 'Without it . . .' I KNOW MOM.

I rub a hand along my cast, inadvertently wiping away the last of the spider decal. I should've brought the notes from mom's call. I dug them out of the trash. They would've folded up nicely in my jacket. I could've . . .

"Gil?"

Philip's voice startles me and my head jerks up. His look of 'you're turn' hits me full blast and I rub my mouth.

"I told you already," comes out and sounds lame. No doubt to her as well.

"I know," she says then just looks at me. She's always been able to see through me. _That_ hasn't changed.

Inwardly, I sigh. I'm here for closure or, at least, some sense of closure like where we stand, where I'll _let_ her stand. Might as well start here.

"You mean the first time or the most recent?"

**Sara**

Wow. That's not what I expected. I know about the blue cast (photo in pocket) and the purple one (photo at home) and I saw the pink one on the newscast. I never asked about the pink one.

My brows rise and I frown. "There was more than one time?"

I think I pull that off.

**Grissom**

"Unfortunately," I answer with a very slight grimace.

"Um, all the times then?"

All the times.

"Okay," I say, looking at my cast then back to her. "I got this pink cast after I punched Jeremy Roberts in the face."

"What?!"

She's surprised. I thought I'd told her. I told someone. "Um, yeah. It had more to do with being the one in the way when he tried to escape than any sort of planned thing."

"Where did . . ?"

"Police station. He was there, I turned and . . . I broke my previous cast and screwed up some fingers." I shrug and look away but not before I see her hand start to reach out then stop.

"And before that?" she says tucking that same hand under her thigh. I've seen her do that so many times, so many.

"I fell off a fishing boat and got my first cast all mushy," I answer, sitting back a little, watching her brows rise up her forehead. "One of the guys got hold of a big fish, he slipped, both Hank and I grabbed and missed. Plop, right into the water. Hence the mushy cast."

She kind of grins and waits for me to continue. I really don't want to talk about the first one. The first one carries with it low times, times I want to ignore, put away, never look at again . . .

"And the first cast?

Damn. I turn to Philip and he tips his head a bit. He knows, hell, we all know I've been putting this off and if I don't say anything he will. I clear my throat.

"Ah, yeah," I say leaning forward again, fiddling with my thumb. "I had a blue cast. I got that when I, ah, tripped and hit a wall. I told you about that."

I don't dare look at Philip though I can guess at the look on his face. A full blown grimace overtakes mine as my stomach starts working overtime on learning how to tie itself in knots. And it's just going to get worse.

"I was mad," I slowly begin after rubbing a hand across my chest. "I was mad at those responsible for trying to drown the kids and one thing led to another and I, well, I didn't trip and hit the wall. I . . . I punched it."

"Oh," she says and I wince.

I'm such a coward. I've been brave just recently. I remember. Forced myself to face the unknown and came out unscathed. True, it was only my career, my life's work, that was on the line and this . . . this is . . . this is something completely different. I'm not sure if brave will help here. Mom's right. I have to be honest – totally, brutally honest even if it tears me to pieces.

"Actually, that's not all true," I amend, not looking at her. "It started off as a mad on for what happened to the kids but it turned into something else midway through."

I pause. She knows what I'm going to say. I steal a look and see the slight frown, the furrowed brow, the sadness that slowly appears. But I can't let that sway me. I can't let her dictate how I need to do this because _this_ is for both our sakes.

Honesty, honesty, honesty.

Christ. Just say it!

"It became about you," I finish, the words leaving me like air leaking from a tire.

She doesn't say anything. I mean, what can she say to that besides 'oh' again, so I carry on.

"I broke a knuckle and a painting. Scared Hank and Mom. Myself, too. I didn't realize I had so much anger locked up. I thought I was just incredibly unhappy." I shrug and look back to my cast. "After you left, and I realized you weren't coming back, I forced myself to became numb so I wouldn't have to deal with things. Finding the kids that way sort of woke me up, made me feel what I'd been trying not to. It wasn't pleasant but I suppose it was something I needed to excise." The silence in the room is deafening and I hurriedly glance up. I didn't mean to take over. "I'm sorry," comes out of me automatically as I look from one to the other.

"Whatever for?" Philip asks.

I open my mouth to answer then pause. I don't really know what for.

Turning back to Sara, I catch sight of glistening eyes before she looks down and my heart clenches at the pain I see before losing sight of it. I want to reach out but don't, much like she did. It's easy to take someone's hand and give them comfort but the cold that replaces the hand once it's pulled away is lasting. And, as harsh as it sounds, I didn't put us in this situation; I didn't start what's become of us now. I can't ignore that.

Glancing at Philip to see if he expects more, I only get a slight smile. I guess I've done good. I answered her question. Oh, I could've laid out the anger that poured from me in loud words but that would just upset me so I keep quiet. I'm pretty sure I'll be upset soon enough.

**Sara**

Oh, man. Oh, man, oh, man.

He just admitted to scaring himself. This man, who prides himself on being in control, lost it. And he lost it in front of his mom.

God. _I_ did that. _I_ pushed him over the edge with my indifference, my cold interpretation of our life together that was so far from the truth.

I'm such a bitch.

"I'm sorry, Gil," I say then cover my mouth with a shaky hand to stave off any other words that might tumble out.

He just looks at me, eyes filled with sorrow. He looks much like he did in the store and I want to hold him, touch him. But I won't, I can't. Nor can I cry. I'll not use that against him. I know how that moves him and I won't do that. I have to become a stone because his question is coming up and I highly doubt it'll be light and feathery. It'll be a whopper.

"Sara? Anything else?" Philip finally says, pulling me from my dismal thoughts.

"No," I quickly state.

"Okay then. Gil, it's your turn."

He keeps looking at me and I try not to shy from it. When those eyes move away, he's staring off into space. He's running the question through his mind, maybe tossing it aside and coming up with another. This inner conversation with himself is normal but he isn't reflecting that certain composure that I've come to expect from him. No, this is troubled. So, I run through the myriad of questions he could ask, trying desperately to answer each one as good as I can. I must be prepared. I can't let . . .

"The night you left . . ." he begins then wavers and my inner voice quiets. He swallows hard and starts again. "I don't understand how you missed how scared I was?" I know he's reliving it. I am, too. "I . . . You know me and yet it was like I was a stranger to you. Why didn't you know?"

He's got me now - those blue eyes drill me into the couch - and I can't turn away. I wouldn't if I could. He wants an answer. He deserves an answer but I don't have one. You see I've tried and tried to come up with something that makes sense but there's nothing. No coherent thought went into what I did and nobody wants to hear that.

Please don't walk out.

"I don't know."

The temperature drops. I can feel it. He flinches, sits back and rubs his forehead then glares at the fish. I don't know how else to say 'I don't know'. It's the truth. I've not the foggiest but it sounds so phony, so contrived. I have to say something else, anything else. I lean forward.

"At that particular moment, I don't know why all that I know of you disappeared," I push out as fast as I can. "What you were saying, how you said it, didn't sink in until much later and, by then, by then I thought . . . I didn't know what to do to make it right."

"I left you messages," he quietly says through clenched teeth.

"I know."

"You could've answered them at any time."

"I figured I couldn't." He looks back at me with confusion. "Too much time had passed before I listened to them. I didn't think . . ."

"There would never be too much time, Sara," he answers, anger lacing his words. "I waited at your apartment . . ." He stops then slowly starts again. "I'd planned on apologizing to you."

I can't even begin to imagine why. "For what?"

"For whatever it was I'd done to make you completely forget I love you!" he finishes in a raised voice, shutting his mouth quickly and pulling eyes from mine to shut them tightly. "I didn't know what I'd done to lose your love and I was desperate to find out, to fix whatever it was."

"You didn't lose my love."

"_Yes_, I did," he answers in a soft voice. "It wasn't there in your eyes when you quit everything." That horrible, horrible memory surfaces and my chin trembles. "I stood there, after you left, and stared at the door, my brain puzzling over what had happened and coming up blank. I'd never felt so helpless. It was an awful feeling, Sara, to be turned on by the one you thought would always be there. It made me question everything. And all you had to do was answer one of my messages, just one with a fuck off or I'm sorry or . . . or anything but silence."

And I was silent, silent like a tomb; to much of a coward to admit I'd made a huge mistake. Right there, right then, I had his forgiveness in my hand, and I let it fall through my fingers.

"I didn't think you'd listen," is the only answer I can give him. He looks at me with near disgust and I cringe. "I couldn't . . . I wanted to call. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was for being an ass but . . . I know now it was the worst possible thing I could've done."

"It was." His voice is sharp and his eyes have gone dark. "When you didn't show up at your apartment I went home only to find you'd packed up and left. You'd really gone without saying a word and I had no idea where to look. I panicked. What if you'd been hurt? What if you were waiting for me somewhere and I'd be too late? No one had seen you so I figured of all the people we know, you might've called Nick or Greg. But guess what? They wouldn't help me. They thought I'd driven you away so they froze me out."

"They didn't know," I quietly offer.

"And how was I to know that?" he harshly asks. "You left me with nothing to go on. _You_. The person I thought loved me; the one who'd agreed to move in and share my life. Do you know what that did to me?" His voice breaks on that last bit.

"I do."

He shakes his head. "You don't."

Silence reigns and I glance at Philip. I won't do what I'm known for – filling a vacuum. It wouldn't be appreciated and I beg him with my eyes to do something.

"Tell her, Gil," Philip quickly prompts drawing his attention. "No matter how much you don't want to, you have to tell her everything."

"I . . ." He stops then shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," I forcefully say. He jerks at the tone. "I need to know every little thing that happened to you."

"Why?"

"Because I need to understand what I did," I try to explain.

"What difference does it make now?"

"A world of difference. I thought I was over this, over disappearing into a case. But what Roberts did to Ally Corrs worked its way under my skin and latched on. Why? Something else I don't know. And when you yanked me from the case all the old hurts came to the fore and I-I couldn't stop the words . . ." Those awful, awful words. "I didn't mean . . ."

I watch his eyes glisten. He knows as I do that I _did_ mean what I said and held onto that conviction for a long time before realizing my error. No sense saying anything else.

"I _did _mean it," comes out of me even though I know it'll cost me dearly. "But I was stupid, so very very stupid to think that it was true."

He draws back and his eyes widen. I think I've just sunk my chances. I think he was expecting . . . Maybe he expected me to lie; expected me to deny everything. But, I can't do that. Lies, denial . . . they've no place here. Only honesty and truth.

That's the only way we can get past this.

_If_ we can get past it.

Please let us get past this.

* * *

_Okay, then. You can get tomatoes to throw in the lobby. _

_Think of this as the first commercial break where you can call me names, clench your fists and go to the bathroom. _

_Part 32-B is nearly ready so I see it being posted on or around January 1. (No promises just heartfelt hopes.) Thank you again to all of those who've stuck with me, asked about WHY IS IT TAKING SO DANG LONG!, and given me a thumbs up - DOCMARTINFANCRAZY, TessTrueHeart, Moonstarer, 2 guests, sgrfan, NickyStokes72, stlouiegal, SarahmUK, Hithui, SevernSound, and NANCY1. You guys are the best! Have a wonderful and safe holiday and may all the food we eat not put a single ounce of fat on our svelte bodies! Cheerio! :-D  
_


	33. Chapter 33

_Happy New Year one and all! As promised here is Part 2 of G/S's session. I hope it meets with your approval. The last part of this section should be ready, should, in a couple of weeks. I'll put a January 14 date on it (in pencil, of course).  
_

_In the meantime, great thanks go out to: msbetty, RollWithIt, Moonstarer, SarahmUK, TessTrueHeart, SevernSound, NickyStokes72, Wiggle 34, was spratlurid quimby, Hithui, Otie1983 (get out of your tent - here it comes) and, of course, Nancy1.  
_

_PS: This section is all from Grissom's POV. Sara gets her say in the next one so quit moaning.  
_

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Part 33**

**Grissom**

Ah, verification.

I smile then don't. I thought that would make me feel better, hearing her say it. Instead, I feel like a balloon that's slowly losing its air, petering out at the end. And it brings to the fore the worst thing – I _didn't_ imagine the loss of love in her eyes. It really was gone. I want that time back, that time where I figured I was wrong.

Man, I never should've agreed to this. I was comfortable with the surface relationship we'd rebuilt, not looking any further than the weather, the latest movies or how's Hank. To hell with regret! It's better than this-this heart wrenching talkfest that does nothing for my blood pressure let alone my queasy stomach.

Why am I here?

What's the point?!

Shit!

I know Philip will tell me it's what I need. He's the shrink. He should know. But who in their right mind wants to hear that your love meant it when she said she was done? Why does anyone want to hear that? Goddamn it! It hurts just as much now as then. Maybe more.

Rising quickly from the couch, I head toward the far wall and the expansive aquarium, trying to refocus my shifting control by conjuring up crumbs of information on the various species of fish swimming away in their own little world. I wonder if they have relationship problems or is their life as relaxing as it looks. A clownfish swoops by. I rub at my forehead and squint. Clownfish; Nemo; they come in different colors; they are in the same family as damselfish; they like anemones . . .

Surprise, surprise. It's working. My heart slows, the tremble that took up residence while I was venting lessens and the kinking of my shoulder muscles stops trying to strangle me. I let out a breath and only then do I notice the quiet that rages behind me. That's the second time that's happened today. I guess the ball's in my court. And if I don't want the damn ball?

_Take the bull by the horns. Don't let anyone run roughshod over you. Pick yourself up, clench your jaw and stay the course!_

I startle a bit. The clownfish is staring at me. God, I hope all that was me and not him or I'm really going to need some serious drugs.

I press the heel of a hand against an eye and blow out a breath. "So, you want to know everything?" I ask without turning around.

"I do," Sara answers.

"So you can suffer right along with me?"

"I should pay for what I've done."

She's quick with the answers.

"And you think that'll make things better?" Like anything would.

"I don't know," she hesitantly answers. "No, it probably won't but I need to hear it anyway."

She needs to hear it anyway. And I do?

"Retribution?" I ask.

"Redemption. For you."

That was quick, too.

"It's a little late for that," I nastily say. I may have been successful in L.A. but haven't tried Vegas yet. It may be too late indeed.

"Please tell me," she finishes.

That . . . Hmm. I'm surprised. Vacillating, I try to figure out why. The first word that pops into my head is sincere. She sounds sincere. Can I rely on that anymore, how she sounds? Everything I knew of her was wiped clean with that one look not so long ago. Do I dare fall back on what I _used_ to know because, obviously, some of that was wrong?

I should . . . I guess I should, at least, think on it.

She wants redemption for me. Is it faith in _her_ she wants restored or faith in myself? Simon and my family have restored my confidence; all of those people who still want me to work with them built me up more. I don't need her help to believe in myself. I only need help believing in _her_. And that's a tall order but it's why I'm here. I can't see the end of this particular tunnel. It's dark and blocked off. But that's to be expected, right? Yes, expected. This is the first session and, even though I don't want to have anymore, I know there will be many. What's left to talk about after this who knows?

Questions. Still too damn many unanswered questions.

Crap. Maybe I _should_ answer this one. That thought makes me press a hand to my forehead to still the simmering throb that's growing by leaps and bounds. I know what it is and, as I've done so many times before, I choose to ignore it.

"Okay," finally comes out as I stare at the floor.

But I can't stare at the floor. That's like running away isn't it? I need to turn around, look her in the eyes and tell her how she broke me. Make her feel how I felt. Make her cry at what she did. Yes, I'm feeling vindictive right now and I'll not apologize for it. I spear her with a look.

"I can only describe it as drowning. The air seemed thicker somehow, my lungs unable to process it, and I walked around in a daze, a daze that grew worse with each passing hour. But that was a far better thing for me, to be in a stupor, than to allow myself to feel what was truly there because no telling what I would've done. Then it would happen - a touch of something would seep in when I least expected it and I'd have to go hide. You see I couldn't let anyone know I was falling apart. I'm sure I failed miserably but what else could I do? I'd given you my heart, Sara, given it freely with no restrictions, no deals, just love. What you did shocked me, threw me off. What hurt was the reason it happened."

This is just plain awful, dredging up this pain, this airing of how I cracked, admitting that she is and will always be my weak spot. I look away then settle on the arm of the couch.

"You claimed I didn't respect you. I was stunned you were bringing that up again after all these years because you know I have the highest regard for your work and you. It's your methods that sometimes need to be called into question as they did that night. When I found out what happened I couldn't catch my breath, filled as I was with thoughts of you dead. And when you stood there and didn't see my fear, I could feel things slipping away. Blaming myself seemed like the next step."

"Again I ask why?" she says.

"Because nothing else made sense. Besides, I've a track record remember? All those years trying to keep my distance, trying not to fall, giving you hope and taking it away."

I think she might say something but keeps quiet.

"As each day passed without word," I continued, "I was more and more convinced that it _was_ me. Nick and Greg were right - somehow I'd driven you away - so I made myself ignore what had happened; chalked it up to another lesson learned. It was easier to focus solely on the job instead of worrying about you, if you were safe. But even that became a chore. I started making mistakes then began wondering what I was doing here in Vegas, at CSI. When that started memories of us would surface and I'd catch myself smiling then wondering whatever for? You were gone. You were gone and the 'poor me' cycle would begin all over again. I knew I'd never get over it and what kind of life is that?"

Haunting memories fill me and force me to look back at the fish.

"And then I stepped into that store," I continue moving arms across my chest. "It never occurred to me to leave. I had ample opportunity but chose not to. All I could see was my chance to end it all and I grabbed it with both hands. I'd never considered suicide before. Always thought it was a cop out," I add with a humorless tug at the lips. "But not that night. That night it was a release, something to take away the constant pounding sorrow that had overtaken me when it finally, truly sunk in you weren't coming back."

I wonder if it would've made any difference, dying. Would my ghost haunt that store or would I sit and watch the people I'd never had a chance to tell how much they meant to me, leaving me much the same in death as in life.

"Why didn't you follow through?" Philip asks. I'd nearly forgotten he was there.

"He had a much better reason for killing himself," I admit. "His wife was dead. Never again would he be able to hold her, fight with her, make up. The void in his life was permanent while mine . . ." I stop and wipe my mouth. "I guess I was still clinging to a tired speck of hope stuck way back in the dark that she'd come back, tell me everything was a mistake and we'd move past it. I didn't really know it was there until that moment." I look back to the fish. "And when he took his life . . ." My voice peters out and I shake my head.

"What, Gil?" Philip asks.

"It wasn't what I was expecting."

"And what were you expecting?" Again I shake my head. "You've seen death before."

Slowly, I nod. "Yes, but never like that. I knew what he was going to do seconds too late and all I could do was watch him fall and, suddenly, I didn't want to be him."

"Why?"

"I couldn't end it like that without trying one more time. I needed to make things right." I glance at Sara. "But when you showed up, I couldn't let you in. I couldn't do what I wanted because I . . ." I trail off. I don't _want _to say it.

"Because?" Philip pushes.

I take in a couple of deep breaths and squeeze shut my eyes. "Because I didn't trust her anymore."

God that hurt.

"But you let me hold you," she whispers. "That meant so much to me."

That night is still foggy but I do remember that and try to push aside how it felt to hold her close and fall short of excising all of it. I turn away.

"I tried not to but I couldn't help myself. I can never help myself when you're around, Sara, because I've . . . I've always loved you."

There. I said it. I've always loved her and always will. And _that's_ why it hurts so much.

"It wasn't your leaving that told me so much," I continue. "It was your silence. It told me how you never gave me a thought; never worried about how I was doing; never asked after me and never understood that if you died . . ." I swallow hard. "Your running away made me aware of things I didn't want to believe, I couldn't believe until you didn't come back."

"What did it tell you?" Philip asks and I cringe. I don't want to say this. I don't. "What did it tell you?" he repeats.

I look up to the ceiling. Why can't I just faint - fall flat to the floor, out like a light - then this would all stop . . . Well, for tonight anyway.

"What did it tell you, Gil?"

That man is growing irksome.

"That Sara didn't love me."

There's a quick intake of breath behind me. "That's not true," finally comes out in a small voice.

I force myself to look at her. "But it is, Sara. You didn't love me _enough_ to talk to me, to call me, to let me know you were all right."

"I did love you. I do love you. I was never so happy as when you asked me to move in, when you gave me your key."

"And yet I found it on the floor when I rushed home to find you." She's quiet and I'm getting mad. "It told me that _I_ meant nothing to _you_."

I move from the couch to stand by the fish, fighting off bursts of anger that traipse through me.

"I called in sick after you left," I continue. "I literally couldn't move, couldn't lift my head from the pillow, so caught up in how we'd been happy one moment and a wretched mess the next. It was Hank who got me to move. He's very insistent and let it be known I wasn't to wallow away in bed. So I got up for _him_. And I got up each night for _him_ until it became normal to do so and I was able to work again. I sent myself out solo because being around people wasn't good for me. Some tried to be nice while others . . . It was difficult not to hear the things said. For the first time I begrudged the fact that I'd had my operation. So I became my old self - an emotionless stick as you so aptly put it." She flinches and I don't much care right now. "When it came down to it all I had was Hank."

And Mom and Paul. I hadn't even thought of them during that time.

"What about Catherine or Jim?" she asks. "I can't believe they didn't try to help?"

I sort of smile but I'm sure it comes out like a grimace. "Oh, they tried but I wasn't listening. Al, too. I didn't want to hear how things would get better, how it was all a mistake, how I just needed time so I stayed away. I didn't take advantage of what they offered. The store felt like fate. Who was I to ignore that?"

"Many people would've missed you, Gil," she softly says.

"I didn't care. It wasn't until you and Jim took me home that it occurred to me how horrible it would be for Mom to find out her only son killed himself, by proxy. What a horrible thing to do to the woman who raised me." I shake my head. "I sat outside her house for a long time deciding I couldn't face her knowing what I'd almost done. I was going to leave but she found me and took me in. I was nine all over again and held on for dear life."

Running a hand through my hair, I can't help but remember that day as if it was an hour ago. I feel everything again. All the misery that drove me to my knees; how exposed I felt, defenseless; how startled I was by Nick and Greg's behavior and how much embarrassment I caused myself.

"It must be me," whispers out of me. I'd not meant to say that aloud.

"It's not you, Gil," Sara responds, her voice high and a bit annoyed.

I turn. "Who else?"

"Me," she answers pointing at herself. "I'm the one that walked away, not you. I'm the one that pulled the rug out from under you."

"Yet you seem to have come through just fine," I add with a bit of a smirk, "while I fell apart. I always knew it would be a very long time before I surfaced for air if you left. I just never thought . . . I never pictured myself falling that far. If I'd been stronger . . ."

"You will not take this on yourself. I won't let you!"

I stiffen then narrow my eyes at the anger in her words until I realize it's not meant for me but for her.

"Sara . . ." I stop, mouth hanging open. I was about to keep the blame for myself.

What am I doing?! I'm the injured party. I can't help the fact that I shattered into a million pieces. That's something I'll have to work on; improve my inner strength. I still have some or I wouldn't be here. I force a deep breath. It's automatic with me, this trying to ease her burden. I've always done so more because I was usually at fault. But not now, not now and I need to STOP that.

"Gil, _you_ are a strong man. You've endured many things in your life and come out a whole person. That's one of the things I've always admired about you, how you're able to ignore what other people think and forge on ahead. All you care about is doing what's right and helping those who can't help themselves. Look what you did for Simon and his parents."

"Any CSI would've done the same."

"No, Gil. Not many CSI's would've taken the time to make a little boy try to understand. You let him know that justice could be done. What you did, what you do is extraordinary and everyone knows it."

"At one time maybe," I answer with a small shake of my head.

"The people at LAPD know. Vegas knows. Anybody you've ever consulted for knows." I'm about to disagree but she doesn't let me. "Nothing that happened between us is your fault, Gil. Please stop thinking it was. This rests solely with me. I took a good man and hurt him and now I know the depth to which I hurt him and that just makes this so much harder to overcome."

She looks down and a hand moves up to push a strand of hair behind an ear. That hand is shaking and she's biting her lower lip and the urge to hold her catches me unaware and I step back. I know Philip's watching but I can't look at him. I don't want him to see the yearning on my face until I can gain control of it so I lean against the wall again and stare at my shoes, glancing up only when Sara begins to speak.

"I was never shocked at how loving you could be," she begins, eyes rising to meet mine. "You've always shown that in how much you care for your team. No, what surprised me was how romantic you are. For someone who can get lost for hours in the detail of blood spatter, locking out the world while you contemplate each and every pattern, you poured that same attentiveness into simple and grand gestures for me. They were a gift that I cherish still and always will."

I'm falling into her eyes, those eyes that are so familiar. "It was easy with you," I admit. "You gave me so much and I wanted to give back tenfold. I loved how you loved me," I say with a small shrug then close my eyes and turn.

Get a hold of yourself!

"Do you think," she continues then falters. "Do you ever see a time when . . . when you'll trust me again?"

I flinch. It was visible. I don't have to look at her to know she saw it.

There's that word again. Trust. It's an important word. It's what relationships are built on. Any relationship. I trust Jim and Catherine will have my back (now that I've let them in); I trust that the Fab Four will always be there if I need them; I trust Paul to tell me the truth and Mom to love me always no matter what.

It's such a precious thing and so very, very fragile.

"I let you in, Sara," I quietly start. "All the way in. You had me until one or both of us left this earth and yet you did this to me. I want to believe you won't do it again."

"I'm telling you now I won't," come her earnest words.

I grimace. "Just words."

I would've believed them that first night. Maybe a few nights after that. Maybe even longer.

"My heart aches, Sara. At times I wasn't sure it still beat but it must have. I'm standing here, breathing, trying to live again. I want that ache to go away. I _want_ to let you love me but how can I risk that? How can I risk that knowing what your leaving did to me?" Her eyes glisten and my head pounds.

I smile slightly. "Catherine would tell me to 'take a chance' but look where that chance ended up – together but apart; you over there and me over here, close but far away." I shake my head. "Every time I think I might be able to try, all those feelings slide right in to remind me how it felt to be left behind." I rub my forehead and glance at Philip. "I want to get past this. I really do. But how?"

His gaze is soft. "It takes time, Gil. Time and words and understanding."

Time I get. Words? Yeah, eventually. Understanding? I understand that I want to hold Sara, make love to her, smile with her, believe in her again. I _want_ to trust her with my heart, I really do. I really do.

"I hope you try," comes from her and I glance up. Her lips thin and her eyes glisten and her voice trembles.

I give a slight nod. It's very difficult, what she asks. Do I have it in me? Do I have the power to try?

I don't know.

Ah, those words again. Those idiotic, non-sensensical, inane words that wreak havoc with every little bit of my entire world.

Shit.

* * *

_Time and understanding and A LOT OF CHOCOLATE! Poor Grissom. Hmm, I could jump over everything and go straight to the end . . . . Nah, that wouldn't be any fun. They both need more angst and maybe a little trauma or something. I could have Paul, Brass and Grissom get drunk. Maybe Hank could drive them home and the kids could shake their furry heads at them. No? Well, maybe it'll just be dream sequence. :-D_

_I hope you liked this second part. The third and final act of this particular section is in the works. Hope everyone is happy and well and planning on having a grand January. Thanks for reading and reviewing. :-D_


	34. Chapter 34

_Howdy! My apologies for being late. Work has been CRAZY and I've been trying not to get sick (everyone at the office is sneezing and coughing like mad) but here is the last section of the session. I asked a question of a few of you and you responding splendidly. After weighing your thoughts and my beta's (along with my own) I've come up with what follows. I appreciate all your help Otie1983, stlouiegal and SarahmUK.  
_

_Thank you to: Moonstarer, TessTrueHeart, SevernSound, Sarafly, NickyStokes72, Wiggle34, Hithui, leah-audreysgramma and NANCY1.  
_

_Onward ~  
_

* * *

**Part 34**

**Sara**

He nodded. He'll try. At least I have that to hold onto.

I have to grab onto the couch as he turns back to the fish, silent and somber. Have to grab on so I don't fly across the room, drop to my knees and beg forgiveness. It's what I've wanted to do since I walked into this room but it won't mean what I want. It won't tell him that he _can_ trust me, that I won't ever do anything like that again, that I love him, that he's all I'll ever need. The only thing that'll do that is if none of it ever happened.

And that's where life stinks. Stinks is too tame. Sucks! Sucks the big one! Why can't life be like a movie? You know, some magic potion is taken and - voila! – the big bad thing that happened didn't; the anger never was; Oz still exists.

_You don't die of a broken heart, you only wish you did.*_

Oh, that's so uplifting and does _not_ help! Nothing can help me! I'm on the wrong end of the salvation gauge. This is my mess, mine, and I have to dig myself out one way or another.

But how? How do I tell him what I don't know?!

I DON'T KNOW WHY I DID WHAT I DID!

But there should be some deeper reason. People don't do such things without a reason. Right? Maybe, maybe when he grabbed my arm I flashed on my father yanking me out of my chair or-or when he yelled at me I was cringing in the closet as my parents raged in the other room. I don't know. And respect? Of course he respects me. He's told me and shown me often enough so toss that away. He gave himself to me, all of himself, and he couldn't have been more loving, taking me to heights I'd only dreamed of. That man is great in the sack so it's not that either. Yes, we've had our fights but that doesn't relate either.

Jesus!

Think. There has to be a reason. Okay, I was pissed. I was royally, genuinely pissed but it can't just be that. Can it? Could it be I lost the best thing in my life because I had a temper tantrum?

Christ almighty! That can't be all of it! That just can't.

"What case were you working on that night, Sara?" comes Philip's voice invading my thoughts and I jerk my eyes toward him.

"What?"

"What case was it? Ally Corrs, right?"

"Um, yeah," I reply narrowing my eyes at him in question.

"What was different about that case?"

Gil has turned now and is staring at Philip.

"It was a rape/murder case," I answer.

"But something must've been different about it." He's eyeing me and I'm not connecting the dots. "Was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"I . . . well, I hadn't been on one of those cases for awhile," I admit still puzzled.

"And why's that?" he continues.

Because they make me go off the deep end. "Sometimes I don't handle them very well," I say instead. "Gil had been keeping me away from them."

"So why were you on _this_ case?" He's pushing and I don't want to go there. Gil looks irritated.

"There wasn't anyone else and the quicker you get to the scene the less chance there is of someone contaminating possible evidence."

"Could you have asked for help? Nick, perhaps."

"He was busy with his own case."

"Would he have come if you'd asked?" Philip tries.

I press my lips together and don't look at Gil. "I . . ." I fumble with my hands. "It didn't occur to me. I'm a CSI. It's my job to take what's there."

"But you have problems with those scenes," he adds.

I start fidgeting. "I admit I was nervous but it's my job. So I headed to the scene."

"Then what happened?"

"I took photos, canvassed the house and gathered what I could. There wasn't much to go on. No forced entry, the room wasn't upended and there were just a few magazines on the floor. Then David showed up to check the body."

"David Philips?"

"He has to clear the body before we can touch it," I explain.

"Then?"

I feel my heart speed up, images of that night flashing in my head. "He, ah, turned her over and . . ." I shake my head. "I should've gone outside, should've let him take photos, but I stayed and couldn't take my eyes from her battered face. I was so very thankful she was dead because I didn't want her to end up like Pamela Adler." Philip's brow creases.

"Pamela Adler was beaten, raped and fell into a coma," Gil explains.

"And she'll probably never wake up," I add. "I lost perspective on that case. Gil tried to tell me but I wouldn't listen. I had to find justice for her no matter the cost. It seems I haven't learned a thing."

"Did you recognize what was happening?" Philip continues.

I nod. "A part of me kept yelling 'get the hell out' but I ignored it. Ally's family needed closure and I was going to get it for them." I look down at my ginger ale can, noticing it's a bit crushed, and place it on the side table. To keep my fingers still, I clasp my hands together.

"Why do you feel that way?" Philip asks and I gape at him.

"Because _we're_ all they have," I say, louder than I intend and let out a long breath. "See? Haven't learned a thing." I stare at my hands so as not to look at either of them.

"We _are_ all they have," Gil adds and I glance up. His eyes hold a knowing look and it spreads warmth through me. "We're often the last line of defense for the families," he continues, eyes drifting toward Philip. "I've been known to lose myself in a case."

I shudder, thoughts falling back on how it felt to hear he'd been attacked by Syd Goggle. Thank God for Catherine.

"What happened next?" Philip asks.

"Ah, when I came back to the lab with nothing to show for it, I was angry. Whoever did this was going to get away with it. I couldn't let that happen so back I went." I look up at Gil. "I never once thought of what could happen to me. And you weren't a consideration because all I saw was the house, the room, the endgame." He's watching me closely, a hand stuck in a pocket, lips pursed. What I'm telling him he already knows. He's witnessed it enough over the years. "Then I came back and you ripped it all away from me."

"You scared me," he plainly says. "I just reacted."

"Your hands trembled. I remembered that later. I had no right to talk to you that way. No one has that right."

"No, they don't," he whispers.

I cringe but carry on. "I'm not making excuses, Gil. There _is _no excuse for turning on you like that. None. You should've fired me."

"I'd never do that."

"You should've. You should've yelled right back; should've shaken some sense into me."

"I'm not sure that would've helped."

I stare at him a moment. "Probably not," I agree then sigh. "What I did was childish. I needed to get my way and when I didn't . . ." I shake my head.

"Why'd you come back to town, Sara?" Philip asks. "Was it because Jim called you?"

"He what?" Gil asks drawing Philip's attention.

"When Jim found out it was you at the store, he called Sara and was surprised to get her. He'd been trying for awhile."

"So was I." His voice is sad and I jut out my chin to keep it from trembling.

"I was crawling back to see if I could pick up the pieces," I tell him. "I was desperate. When Jim called it seemed meant. You were in trouble. There was nothing that would keep me away."

Gil frowns then. "I wondered how you could be there."

"I needed to explain myself and it scared me that you would, that you could die before I had the chance. It wasn't until I heard what you said to that man that I . . ."

"You heard me?" he interrupts, blanching.

Oh, I shouldn't've said that. "When you, um, fell to the floor I ran inside to make sure you were all right. I told you then I'd heard you."

He slowly shakes his head. "I-I don't remember," he quietly admits.

"I needed to make sure you were okay. I wanted so badly to touch you but I didn't have the right anymore."

"I wanted your touch but . . . I never wanted you to see me that way."

"What way?"

"Lost."

"Why?"

"I . . . " He stammers to a stop then heaves a heavy breath. "I don't like being so out of control. I'm not usually so irrational."

"That didn't scare me," I admit as he looks at me. "What scared me was never being able to apologize for what I'd done. I always told you I'd never break your heart and there on the floor was evidence that I had all because I couldn't separate work from you." I shake my head. "I don't know how you can stand to be in the same room with me." I lean forward then quickly stand contemplating a run for the exit. "I deserve this. All of this."

"Sara . . ."

"I can't turn back time; can't undo what's been done no matter how much I wish it. You'll never forget and I'll never forgive myself." I turn and pin him with a look. "But I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you because I love you, Gil. That will never change."

He stares at me and I can see a hint of something in those blue eyes that flares for just a second before it fades. It reminds me of how he used to look at me and it's heartening to know it's still there.

**Grissom**

I have to move away in order to stop the protective urge that flashes through me. I've never been able to close my eyes to Sara's pain, no matter what it was, always willing to take her in my arms and soothe it away. But now is not the time, not _her_ time. It's mine. I need to feel something other than misery. I can't be led from what I need to do, what I _need_ to believe or I'll never believe again.

Closing my eyes, I work to control myself, control those feelings that race from one end of the spectrum to the other, that upend me when I don't need to be. I should treat this like a case. Yes, a case where I consider the evidence, tie the pieces together, watch facial expressions, listen to the tone of voice. These are all things that can seal a conviction or, at least, point me in the right direction. But, even now, flashes of memory keep getting in the way. Her smile, her touch, her laugh.

Muscles tighten in my back and I roll my shoulders to try and relieve some pressure. I _must_ stand firm. I won't let her play me . . . if she's playing me . . . maybe she's not. Or is she? Damnit! I can't tell the difference anymore. And if I can't now will I ever?

The pounding in my head increases and I plaster my hand to my forehead. There's too much thinking, too much emotion, too much not knowing what's coming 'round the bend. I'm not comfortable with this kind of crap. Not used to it one single bit. It was so easy before to ignore it, to make it seem like it didn't matter to me. Yet it did and it does and it always will.

Christ. I'm making myself dizzy. I'm barreling my way right into a wall again, an impasse of massive proportions and there's no way around it.

"Gil?" Philip's voice pulls me back with a jerk and I lay a hand on the couch so I don't keel over. "Gil?" he says again as he sits forward. I guess I should acknowledge him.

"I . . . I need to step out for a moment," I finally say and Philip agrees. It doesn't matter if he doesn't.

"Of course. We should take a breather."

My legs are shaking, keeping my race to the door at a slow pace. Eyes straight, I slip out into the short hall and keep walking, soon to find myself standing outside the shark exhibit eerily devoid of people. That works for me. I don't need people I _know_ to see me this way let alone strangers.

Walking inside I take comfort in the slow movements of the sharks as they ease themselves through their watery world. A sigh escapes me and I embrace the calmness that envelops me. It slipped away when I walked into that room and will again once I return but, for now, this is bliss. Hearing a squeal of excitement out in the casino, it comes to me that it would be very easy to keep walking, get in my car and drive away, pack up my stuff and move to L.A., Denver or Alaska, out in the hinterlands with no one around but Hank. Then I'd be away from everyone and everything that could possibly hurt me.

Ah, what a life.

"Shit," I mumble and lean my forehead against the cool glass. I can't run away and be at peace with myself.

"You know," comes Philip's voice as he sidles up next to me, "this won't be solved in a day."

"Why the hell not?"

Philip laughs. "I've said that many times myself."

Turning, I slide to the floor, arms braced over my knees. Philip joins me. "Did she leave?" I ask watching a hammerhead glide past.

"No. She's in this for the duration."

"That's new," I huff then sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Stop being sorry, Gil," he says. "You hurt. She hurts. All of this talking is supposed to start the healing. Communication is key."

I glance at him. "Supposed to start?"

"Well, that's what it says in all my psychology books," he deadpans then can't help but grin. I don't. His fades. "It does start the healing, Gil. If you keep everything inside it festers. Talking lets everyone know what's going on whether they like it or not."

"I know," I say, brooding over life as I know it.

"And you both have done much more than some of my other clients. Where you are now can sometimes take years."

"Oh, God," I say dropping my head into my hand.

"That won't happen here," he quickly assures me.

Years. Years of feeling like I've been ripped apart and put back together incorrectly? That would be really bad.

"So, you don't remember Sara telling you about the tape."

"No," I admit.

"Well, you weren't in a fit state at the time." He's right. I wasn't. "She saw it with Jim."

"He didn't tell me."

"Should he?"

Raising my head, I'm ready to say yes but close my mouth on the word, shaking my head instead. "I'm sure there are a lot of things he hasn't told me."

"He's a friend to you both, Gil, walking that fence very carefully, keeping you and Sara in his line of sight."

"He's a good friend."

"He says the same of you."

A lopsided grin touches my lips. Jim, the person who thought he'd let me down and yet, serves a much greater service – being the one who can get through to us both.

"I don't really want to but I keep thinking I should watch the tape. It's all a bit hazy."

"That's natural."

"Maybe," I give back staring at the floor. "But I don't like not knowing. It seems like it was a different person; someone unknown to me."

"What _do_ you remember?"

"I wanted to hold her and tried not to then gave in. It was wrong and right all at the same time."

"Why?"

I shrug. "She left me. I was angry. But then I didn't care. I just wanted to feel her and thought this'll work." I sigh. "But I knew it would gnaw at me and I just wanted to be away." I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. "Is this working?"

"Are you upset, in turmoil, debating with yourself on whether you should run for the hills or see if you can break something?" he asks and a slight chuckle comes from me.

"So you determine your success on whether or not I break something?"

"Do you want to?" he says pointing to my cast.

I cradle it to my chest. "No! I get this off tomorrow. I don't want another one thank you very much."

"Then you've succeeded in controlling that particular monster."

I run a hand over said cast, remembering the yelling, the words, that poor painting, Hank whimpering and know I'd do anything not to have that happen again. As I've already confessed I don't like being so out of control. It's not me. Well, it's never been me before.

I feel Philip's hand on my shoulder. "I'm going back in to sit with Sara awhile. You gonna be okay out here for a bit?"

"Yeah. I won't be much longer."

"Take your time."

He stands and strides off and I lean my head back, feeling that throb moving into a pulsing ache at the base of my skull. Great. I wonder if the gift shop has something that'll make me think I feel better so I can get through the rest of this. Wishful thinking, I know, but it gets me off the floor.

The walk'll do me good.

**Sara**

"Did he leave?" I ask when Philip reappears.

He smiles. "No. Just getting his second wind."

"I shouldn't have brought up the tape."

"Why not?"

I look at him like he's insane. "Because he wasn't himself."

"What was he?"

I shake my head. "You heard him."

"What was he to _you_?" he asks again and I hesitate.

"Vulnerable," I finally answer. "I've only ever seen that a few times and it always seems to embarrass him. Now he knows I watched it all."

"And what did the tape tell you?"

I laugh a bit and fold arms across my chest. "That I'm a heartless bitch."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"So what did it tell you?"

"That he's an honest, loving man, who cares deeply about things."

"About you?" I can't answer that so keep quiet. "You know Gil told me he was worried you'd think he was a wuss. He didn't care if Jim or Catherine thought that. Only you."

I clear my throat. "I don't know why he'd think that."

"Because he couldn't soldier on like most men would in his situation."

"He's not _like_ most men. He's very sensitive to the world around him and hasty comments and snide remarks hurt him like the rest of us. I know that and did it anyway. Why would I forget something like that?"

"Because you wanted to hurt him."

"No, no . . . Yes, I did." Admitting that rips out my heart. "How am I ever going to fix this, Philip? I see no way out for us."

"Well, as I just told Gil it's not going to happen in a day. You're both here, you're talking and you're listening, the most important part of all."

"But . . ."

"It takes time, Sara. Everything important takes time."

"But how often can I say I'm sorry before it makes a difference? Or will it ever make a difference? That's my fear, you know, that all of this, all this time and effort won't end how I want."

"And what is it you want?" he asks and I can't help but toss him an angry look.

"I want him back. I want to feel him, his touch, his all-encompassing love that healed me. I want the forever after. I need that more than either you or he will ever know. He's my life's blood. I'm, I'm . . ."

I stop, my tongue losing any control over more useless words and start crying. God, this is _not _what I want to do!

Philip points me to the bathroom and I hurry from the room. Once inside I decide to let them think I've gone home 'cause I'm staying here the rest of the night. That would be the best for all concerned because, as much as I wish it, there is no out. Not this time. Once trust is gone that's it, at least, in my experience. It's been years since I've spoken directly to my mother and, no matter how hard Gil tried to get me to visit her, I balked. Seeing her wouldn't change a thing so why bother.

Splashing water on my face, I glare at the sink. I don't want that to happen to us. I don't us to never speak again or have to act like we're mere acquaintances. There was so much more. We were starting a life together, a life we both held dear to our hearts. I need to fight for that. I need to make this more than two people passing in the night. I need him. I need to have him in my arms, my bed, my life. It's all I've ever wanted.

Taking a deep breath, I dry my face, thoughts moving to what I saw just moments ago - Gil still loves me. He said the words then I saw it in his eyes. I need to hang on to that, to keep that memory close. I'm not going anywhere anymore and the only thing that'll make me quit is if he tells me to go. I cringe. Please don't ever let me hear him say that.

"Not ever."

My voice echoes about the bathroom and I stare into the mirror, quickly wiping my face, determination filling me. Taking a few deep breaths, I stand tall and start back. I'll not let anyone say I skipped out. I'm seeing this to the end.

"Dr. Kane, I need you to come quickly," comes at me from down the hall and I quicken my pace.

It's a young woman, the same woman I saw at the front desk, and Philip is moving after her without question so I follow them through the shark exhibit and onto the casino floor. Now he's stopped at the gift shop and kneeling. There's someone sitting on the floor. I can't see . . . It's Gil!

My heart quickens and I move forward, trying to get a glimpse of him only to shiver when I do. He looks like he does when . . . God, he's got a migraine. It's written all over his pasty skin and, from the looks of him, it's a bad one. Damn. He'd been rubbing his neck and forehead and he had a slightly pinched look. I thought it was because of what we were saying to each other. Those are all signals and I missed all of them. Why didn't I notice that?

Bells go off on a slot machine and a woman screams, her voice hitting the high notes. It makes me flinch and I watch as Gil clutches tightly to the trash can resting in his arms.

"We've got to get him out of this noise," I urge, automatically reaching for Gil's arm and nodding to Philip to grab the other. "Excuse me," I say to the front desk girl as we pull Gil to his feet.

"Sandra."

"Sandra, would you get me some ice water and a towel and bring it back to the VIP room?" She nods and is gone.

Making our way back, we slip inside the room and sit Gil on the couch. I dim the lights, Sandra meeting me at the door with everything I'd asked for along with a bottle of water. Smiling my thanks, I dunk the towel and squeeze out the excess water then drape it over Gil's neck. He hisses but doesn't move. Hesitating only briefly, I sit close to him and run a hand in lazy circles across his back. He'll have to ask me to stop before I will.

"I'll be okay in a minute," comes at me in a soft voice.

Philip touches my shoulder and gives me a questioning look. I shake my head no.

"We're going to end this session, Gil," he whispers.

"No, I can . . ."

"No, you can't," I interrupt.

I know. I shouldn't've done that but you know what? I don't care. He can't go on like this and I won't let him no matter what. Setting down the trash can, he leans back. He's gray and sweaty and looks awful. I try not to feel guilty but it doesn't work.

"Do you have any of your meds in the car?" I quietly ask.

"No," he answers. "Forgot to put in a new batch."

I turn to Philip. "I might have something in mine."

"Well, let's get him out there then." My eyes bug out in surprise. "If you have anything or not you can take him home." My surprise turns to fear. He leans closer to my ear. "You know how to take care of him when he's like this. I don't. Think of it as a good thing."

Leaning back he raises a brow and I try to retrieve my stomach from my throat.

"We can go out the back way," Sandra whispers.

"Perfect," Philip responds then looks at Gil. "Feel up to going home?"

"Please," is the only answer that comes and, between the both of us, we get him to his feet again.

Grabbing my stuff, I follow after Sandra as Philip carefully maneuvers Gil out of the room, down the hallway and into the cool night air.

"The elevator is to your right and the stairs are next to it," Sandra explains. "I hope he feels better."

I hear Philip thank her but am intent on getting to my car which, thankfully, is on this level. Scrounging through the glove compartment before they arrive, I'm elated to find a small container tucked in the back with one pill inside. Easing Gil into the car, I hand it to him along with the water then quietly close the door.

"Call me later and let me know how he is," Philip requests before I can say anything. There's no way I'm going to get out of this now.

Nodding, I slide behind the wheel and very carefully shut the door. Starting the ignition, my hands fly immediately to the radio as it blares out.

"Sorry," I whisper. He doesn't say anything and slowly we back out and head for the exit.

The drive home is slow and quiet and torturous. Normally, I would be chattering away about something but this is neither the time nor the place. Yes, I feel incredibly awkward and, at the same time, absolutely blessed that my man is sitting next to me. Even though he's not putting two and two together right now and probably won't remember much about this ride home, I plan on saving this memory forever. It'll help in case he says goodbye at some point.

Ten minutes later, I'm leaping out of the car and racing around to open his door. Gently taking his arm and hauling him out of the seat, I rifle through his pockets for the house key. A wave of cursing rockets through me at my idiocy – if I'd kept my key we'd already be inside.

Keys found, we move ever so slowly toward his front door and I can't deny how wonderful it feels to have him leaning against me. I know. He's in pain. It's horrible to admit that that makes me happy but I already know I'm a terrible person so deal with it. Placing the key in the lock, I barely feel it settle when the door pops open and I jump, clutching Gil tightly to my side as the eyes of a stranger meet mine. He looks as stunned as I do.

"Jeez Louise," he mutters as he casts a glance at Gil. "Get in here," he says, kindly pulling on my arm, telling Hank to go get Annie.

Annie? Annie?! Shit!

"I'm Paul. Do you want me to take him?"

Paul. Fab Five Paul?

"Okay," is all I say but Gil won't let go.

"Gil!" I hear as Annie Grissom comes down the hall her eyes moving from him to me as her hand moves up and down his arm.

"It's a migraine. He collapsed at our . . . Dr. Kane asked me to bring . . . I wasn't trying . . ." I slide to a stop when she holds up a hand.

"It's okay, Sara. Take him back would you?"

"Ah . . ."

She smiles at me. Smiles. Can you believe it?

"You know how best to take care of him when he's like this. Go ahead."

"Okay." Yes, I said that again. I'm in shock okay? Annie Grissom just smiled at me.

Leading Gil down the hall, I push open the door and ease him onto the bed, my eyes automatically looking for our photo on his side table. I don't know why I did that except it was something I did every night when I came home. It's not there, the photo. My heart lurches even though I understand its absence. Tossing those thoughts from my head, I pry the trash can from his hands and replace it with the small ladybug one I gave him last year. Silly, but it please me he still has it.

"I'll get your meds. Don't move," I whisper then dash to the bathroom.

Emptying the contents of the trash can in the toilet, I retrieve his pills and some water and head back. Quietly whispering his name, I hand him the items then pull off his shoes, jacket and release his belt, sliding it off him as he lies back on the bed. His eyes close and I fight the urge to run fingers through his hair.

"Ah, do you want your mom to help you with your clothes?" I quietly ask, hating that I can't just do it myself.

To that question, he opens one eye. "Not likely." I grin. "I'm fine the way I am," he adds.

"All right." I drape a comforter over him.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"You're welcome."

My hand hovers over his arm then I slowly back away, glancing about the room to take in the feel of it and that's when I see the photograph. It's on the dresser sitting in the space left vacant when I took the shell and unicorn. Blinded by tears, I quickly leave, everything coming back in a rush. Hearing voices in the other room, I hurriedly wipe at my face then walk out to meet them head on. Running for the door is cowardly. I've done that already.

"Should I be doing anything?" Paul asks, his voice and face filled with concern.

"Cold water on a washcloth would be good. And you might want to get him out of his clothes. His sleepshirts and pants are in the second drawer of the dresser on the left. He might be sick a few more times. Other than that he just needs to sleep for as long as he can. I got his meds into him but a little late so he may still hurt when he wakes."

"I'll postpone his doctor's appointment then."

"Doctor's appointment?" I ask, my concern showing.

"He's getting his cast off tomorrow."

"Oh."

"He needs the sleep more than the ability to write," he says with a grin. Suddenly, he takes my hand. "Thanks for bringing him home, Sara."

He's either a really good actor or means it. For now I'll go with he means it. "It was the least I could do."

He holds on a bit longer then he's off down the hall and all I can do is stare after him.

"Sara," comes Annie's voice as she touches my arm and I jump.

"Ah, I should be going," I blurt out but her touch becomes a light hold.

"Would you stay awhile?" she asks.

"I'm not sure . . ."

"Please?" She smiles at me again and I find myself nodding yes. Such a glutton for punishment. "I'll get us some coffee."

Sitting on the couch, I don't look around. I'm not ready to feel the same longing for this room as I did for the bedroom or any of the other rooms. My selfish actions have already robbed me of so much. In case I'm never back here again I'll not let it rob me of my memories.

"Two sugars if I remember correctly," Annie says handing me a mug. I shouldn't wonder at what she recalls of me. She's always been very thoughtful and gracious.

"I'm sorry," rolls off my tongue before I can stop it.

"I know," she answers and I shake my head.

"How can you even look at me after everything that's happened?" Here comes that smile again along with a warm hand over mine.

"I could go on and on about life and its speed bumps or I could just say that anyone important to my son is important to me." Tears, once again, fill my eyes. "And despite everything that's happened _you_, Sara, are very important."

* * *

_*Quote by Marilyn Peterson_

* * *

_Whew! They got through it! Yippee! Now what? Oh, crap. Now what? :-D (I know what now what is so don't get your knickers in a twist . . well, maybe a little twist) _

_For right now, I must inform you that I'm taking a month off to work on an entry for a writer's contest due in May. I must get started now to get the framework ready (the backstory is already in place), do a first draft, then reduce it all down to 4000 words. Sounds easy? It's not. As you can see from Blink I seem to have a lot of words to spew. Being concise is new to my nature and needs work.  
_

_But, if everything goes as planned, I might (might) be back early with Part 35. Once again I thank all of you for sticking with me on this journey and whenever you think I've strayed or have an idea or want to know what the heck I was thinking, drop me a review or PM. It lets me know that not only are you reading my work but enjoying it and I love that!  
_

_I'll be back as soon as I can. :-D  
_


	35. Chapter 35

_HELLO! I've finally made it through all the hazmagah that real life throws at you to be able to post Part 35. I appreciate all the concerned notes I've been sent wondering if I would ever post again. It was very uplifting. (Please note that I will finish this story if it kills me!)_

_I did take time off to work on my contest entry but work interfered. See I've been laid off and Monday, 4/22, is my last time. So all the time I was going to use to write was been taken up with closing the warehouse without help, without time and, at least, 30 hrs of overtime in one pay period (2-wk). To say I was exhausted is an understatement. But tomorrow is my last day. I can hand off all of the remaining stuff to the new supervisor, say tally-ho, come home, sleep in, write, write, write then look for a new job (after a month off, of course). I got a pretty good severance and have some time to find something nice (hopefully)._

_So, with that all said and done, here come the thank you's: ProWriter11 (thanks for the push), onthecorner, NickyStokes72, Wiggle34, Otie1983, was spratlurid quimby, leah-audresysgramma, SevernSound, Sarafly, GSR'er, TessTrueHeart, Sonoali-aka GrissomLover, SarahmUK, Hithui, Moonstarer and, of course, NANCY1._

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 35**

**Grissom** – 2 days later

Traffic would be appreciated right about now. And if I can't get traffic then a snowstorm closing down the airport, all airports, would be greatly appreciated. Or a gas shortage so I could tell Conway 'sorry, but the car won't start and the plane is iced over, so I'll catch the next flight when it melts'. To Australia!

Flexing my right hand, finally free of its cast, I wince at the soreness, something that might always be there or so says the doctor. Gee, a constant reminder of losing my temper and the why behind it. Great. This day is turning out just great. '_A smile confuses an approaching frown'_ drifts through my tempermental and I snicker at the remembered smile on mom's face when she kissed my cheek and gave me a hug then gently pushed me out the door. And, once again, I thank whoever it was who decided to make mom mom and give her to me.

Things were looking up a couple of days ago even though I was on the back end of a migraine hangover. The 'slept too long and brain full of cotton' feeling resulting in slow and muzzy thoughts leaving me with the desire to turn over and go back to sleep. Most times work beckoned and I had to push that aside. But this time was different. This time I had nowhere to go except back to sleep.

"I see you have company," came Paul's voice interrupting my attempt to doze off.

Blinking steadily to clear the blur, I followed his gaze, smiling some at the on his back, tongue hanging out vision of Hank snoring away. "Where are the kids?" I asked not bothering to suppress a yawn.

"They came out covered in drool. Annie's cleaning them up."

"I hope that wasn't me," I said wiping slowly at my mouth. Hank snorted and a bit of spittle rolled onto the blanket.

"Pretty sure it wasn't," Paul answered with a grin. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a booted centipede pummeled my brain," I answered yawning again.

"Ah, is that good or should I call an ambulance?"

I gave him a quiet chuckle. "It's better than the guy with the jackhammer who came to visit earlier. What time is it?"

"8:25am."

8:25. 8:25? I was supposed . . . "Crap, I'm late," I spit out, not having much success in sitting up since Paul rested a hand on my chest and gently kept me on my back.

"I've rescheduled your appointment for later today so rest easy."

I rubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. "You think of everything."

He smiled a bit. "It's what I do. Do you need anything?"

"Don't think so."

"Okay. Close your eyes and go back to sleep. I'll get you up in time."

"Yes, mom."

He snickered as he stood. "Ah, here come the kids, all nice and clean." It didn't take long for them to leap onto the bed, their hair sticking out in all directions, giving Hank a look as he groaned and rolled over still sound asleep. "We'll be out here if you need anything."

"'kay," I kind of answered feeling myself falling back into sleep, the kids' soft purrs lulling me away.

How much later it was when I came back to the land of the living I didn't know. All I was aware of was how much like sandpaper my tongue felt making me cough then groan just as a tail fell over my face, twitching back and forth across my mouth. Blowing on it only got me a smack not once but twice. That made me grin. _Mew_, _mew_ was followed by a nudging head against my chin.

"Mornin'," I said as the other one repeated the process. "And you, too." I looked to the other side of the bed. "Where's your brother?"

_ Mew, mewrrl._

"That's a good idea," I answered slowly sitting up with another groan.

I hadn't had a migraine like that in forever and what an awful time for it to strike. But it wasn't like I couldn't feel it coming. I should've stopped things, should've gone home, but I couldn't. Walking away in the middle of all that . . .

Rising slowly, I dragged myself to the bathroom, trying not to notice my bed hair as I washed my face then peed and wrapped a robe about me, thinking that a glass of milk might just settle my stomach.

_Mew, meow._

"Come on then."

I grinned as they raced down the hall ahead of me, hearing Mom speaking to them a few moments later. It wasn't until I made it to the living room that I found her and Paul at the kitchen table playing Scrabble, neither bothering to look my way. Odd. I'd been expecting a barrage of questions the minute they knew I was ambulatory but there's nothing, not even a look.

Hmm.

"Mornin'," I said walking past them to open the fridge.

"Can I fix you anything?" Mom asked.

Glancing over, I held up the milk for her to see. "This'll do me for now."

"Okay," is all she said then returned to the game.

I frowned when nothing else came my way. "Ah, you guys don't have any questions?"

"What was that?" Paul asked without looking up.

My frown deepened. "You don't have _any_ questions?"

"About what?"

Eyes narrowed and lips pursed as I moved toward the table, tapping Mom on the shoulder. She glanced up. "You don't have any questions about the session?"

"Ah . . ."

"Or that Sara brought me home."

"That was very nice of her," Paul interjected, "since you were in pretty bad shape."

"It was wasn't it?" Mom said. "Triple score," she said with a smile as Paul reached for the dictionary. "It's a word."

"I've played with you before, Annie Grissom," was all he said scanning through the pages.

They were playing with me, deliberately ignoring the elephant in the room, and I didn't know if I should've hugged them, spilled the beans or kept mum about all of it because I didn't really want to relive it just then. I didn't know if it would come to anything or solve everything and I was in no shape to delve deeper into all that. So I decided to let them play their games (with me and the Scrabble board), leaned over, rearranged the tiles in Paul's holder then sauntered back down the hall.

"Gonna take a shower," I called out. I could play their game, too.

As the bathroom door was closing, I heard Paul call out "I don't think that's an acceptable word!" Smiling, I turned on the shower, stripped and stepped in.

Perhaps it was the hot water pelting my skin that let me think perhaps my luck was changing. I'd been completely honest with Sara. It took a lot out of me but it also freed me somehow. At least a little. She now knows what her leaving did to me. I'd not minced a word of anger or fear. She got it all and didn't run away. That's what made me pause. She'd taken every word and, when I dropped to the floor in the casino, she took my arm and drove me home, holding me close when we walked to the door. I was surrounded by a feeling of comfort and surrendered to it. It was like coming home, that feeling, and that's when I knew Philip had been right – talking does help no matter how leery I was about it.

I need to thank him. I need to stop by his office right now, take him to lunch, talk to him about his wife and kids, go over what went on and wonder what's to happen next. I need to go grocery shopping, clean the kitchen, take Hank to the dog park. I need to do a lot of things except I can't because I'm driving to the fucking airport in order to put myself at risk so a punk ass murderer stays behind bars!

Why the hell did I answer the phone?!

The yelp that escapes me when I slam my right hand, of course, against the steering wheel does nothing for the sharp bits of pain lancing along newly freed joints. But it does help clear my head a little and I take in a deep breath. Why am I railing against whatever keeps Roberts in jail? He killed Simon's sister. Simon, my touchstone, a little boy who should never have to deal with something as heinous as that yet has. His worries should consist of what's for dinner and what will happen in the next Harry Potter book not on never seeing his sister again.

God, I'm so selfish. This isn't about me but about Allie Corrs and April Remington and a murderer who needs to stay behind bars so he can't commit another crime ever. I sigh. I can't even be mad at me for answering the phone last night since I've always been incapable of bypassing a ringing phone. I've always done it, always the first one to answer.

I shake my head remembering being sound asleep on the couch only to hear a distant ringing. Sitting up before my eyes were even open, the sounds of Oompa Loompas singing about bad children in the background, I searched for my cell soon to realize it was the landline ringing. Stumbling to my feet, I barely passed a glance over Paul stretched out in the comfy chair, his lap full of the kids, as I headed to the phone, grabbing at the receiver twice before it made it into my hand.

"Grissom," came out rather hoarsely, a yawn overtaking me.

"I'm sorry to call so late, Gil," came Catherine's voice, "but it can't wait."

That made me wake up a bit. "Is everyone all right?" I asked, visions of death and destruction running through my head.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, everyone's fine. It's something else."

"Okay." I waited a bit but nothing came. "I suppose I could stand here all night . . ."

"Sorry, I just . . . I don't know how to say this so I'll just say it."

"I'm all ears."

"Conway called." The hair on my arms stood on end. "He was looking for you and he's, well, he's expecting you in L.A. on Friday. I've got your flight information. You leave tomorrow morning."

My mouth dried up about the same time my heart nearly stopped. "And he wants me there because?"

She sighed. It wasn't a good sigh. "Jeremy Roberts' attorney is calling for a special hearing." Oh, God. "He's questioning your . . . competence." I kept silent. What do you say to that? "Oh, Gil, this is a bunch of crap." Yeah. "Gil? Aren't you going to say anything?"

I rubbed my forehead. "I, ah, I was expecting something like this," is all I could come up with.

"It's not fair, Gil. You got him fair and square."

I tried not to notice Paul sitting up and watching me. "I found some evidence that tied him to what was eventually found. It was Officer Vanner who actually got him."

"By accident."

"A fortuitous accident that got a murderer off the street."

"And now some righteous prick attorney might put him _back_ on the street."

"I can't do anything about that, Catherine."

"Gil!"

"Well, I can't!" came out more harshly than intended. I turned from Paul's worried eyes. "_I'm_ the one who asked a man to kill me. _I'm_ the one who has to face that every day," I whispered.

"But not on display for all to see."

"But that's already happened, Catherine, the minute that video hit the internet. I'll never be able to leave it behind. My whole life, from this day forward, will be predicated on that damn video and I've no one to blame but myself."

"There were extenuating circumstances."

"And I bet they'll take _that_ under consideration." She was quiet. I wasn't mad at her. I was mad at me, at my inability to cope. And I was ticked at Sara for making me aware of that particular foible.

"I'm sorry, Gil."

"So am I." Rubbing at my neck, it was my turn to sigh. "Let me have the flight details."

Scribbling them down, I stared at the information, then snapped the pencil in two.

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asked. "I do a mean glower."

Oh, yes, I wanted her to go with me. I wanted anyone to go with me since I was feeling tendrils of fear seeping back in, dread over how I might react when the tape was played in an open room, a room I couldn't run from leaving me to do or say anything that could screw me over more than I always was.

Dropping the pencil pieces, I took a deep breath. "Thank you but I've made my bed. I need to learn how to lie in it."

"You don't have to do this alone."

"I'm not. Mom's here. But I may need your shoulder when she goes home."

"It's always here for you."

"Thank you, Catherine."

I hung up before she could say anything else since I was fighting the idea of hurling the phone across the room and thinking on all types of words I could couple shit with. But it was late and I was tired and I figured focusing on the photo of Simon covered in butterflies right above the phone might help ease the tension grabbing at my nerves. Maybe a little.

"What's happened?" came Paul's voice.

I opened my mouth then closed it. Why speak of it? Voicing it would make it real, make the idea that it was slowly being put behind me disappear.

"Gil?"

But Paul was waiting and would continue to wait and he deserved more than being ignored, so I turned and leaned against the table, crossing my arms over my chest and holding on tight.

"Conway wants me back in L.A."

"A new case?"

I shook my head. "I wish it were so."

He waited a few seconds. "It's the store isn't it?" he finally asked. I looked up then, not surprised he'd figured it out and nodded. "Why is that important?"

"Because _I_ found the evidence that traced Roberts back to April Remington."

He looked confused. "But you said evidence of other crimes were found at his house. How can the store figure into that?"

Walking slowly back to the couch, I settled heavily upon it, eyes locking on Willy Wonka getting covered in foam. "An attorney's job is to discredit any and all witnesses, to exploit any disadvantage that that witness may have in order to sway a jury or judge."

"Isn't that illegal?"

I chuckled. "No. That's the court system."

"Has it happened to you before?" he asked leaning forward in his chair.

I nodded. "It was a high profile case. My old mentor was on their team and knew about my hearing problems. He had their attorney question me in a low voice. I caught a word here and there but that was it. But I beat them at their own game and the judge was none the wiser."

"You read their lips," he commented.

"I did and the killer was convicted."

"But this is different."

"Unfortunately." I clasped my hands together. "What I did is on tape. I can't fake my way out of that."

"But surely there won't be many people there. Maybe it'll be in the Judge's chambers."

"Where's the spectacle in that?" I asked leaning back to stare at the ceiling. "Attorneys tossing out dramatic soliloquies, edging ever so closely to a full blown lie just to make a point all because court is theatre - a place to make or break a career."

"Or a witness."

"Or a witness."

Paul was quiet for a moment. "When do you have to be there?"

"Friday. I fly out tomorrow morning."

"I'll go with you."

"No." It was a flat statement with no space for deliberation.

"You shouldn't go by yourself, Gil."

"Maybe not, but I'd . . . well, I'd like you to stay here with mom if that's okay," I asked, flashing him a look.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"No," I answered with a slight laugh. "But, I don't want mom to be worried and alone and . . . and I need a pet sitter." I gave him a slight smirk that quickly faded. "There's not enough time to schedule anything and Sara . . ." I stopped and looked at my hands. "I can't ask . . ."

"I'll stay," he said patting my hands. "You know we're here for you, Gil. You want to talk, yell, curse to high heaven call us. We'll answer."

We'll answer.

Man, I'm so ever thankful for that promise because lately I've needed someone to answer. And they have – mom, Paul, Jim and Catherine. They've all been there when I needed them without me even asking. I'll never be able to fully repay them for how can you repay someone for saving you? A thank you doesn't seem enough.

And promises don't carry much weight with me because they're so hard to keep even under the best circumstances, Sara being just the latest in a string of broken ones. But, after all that's happened, after all I've been through, I find I'm actually making promises to mom and Paul and to myself. They are promises to try and let them in, to let them help and let myself accept it as a good thing. And it was working. I was feeling like I could return to work, to solving puzzles, doing a job I love. But now . . . now it's going to be brought up all over again. And the Remingtons will know. God, they'll know what I tried to do and I'll probably lose Simon because what parent in their right mind would want me around their son.

Geez, I have to pry my hands off the steering wheel. I'm a mess and I haven't even gotten on the plane. I should've let Paul come with me. Or Catherine. She would've kicked me in the butt and told me to suck it up. I close my eyes. I don't really want to do this alone. I don't know why I have to go all tough guy over things like this. I guess it boils down to the whole _point_ of all this - I asked a man to kill me.

Hmph.

Pulling into a parking space at McCarran, a big plane takes off and I take slow, deep breaths as a thought percolates. It's not Friday yet. I could see Simon today. He's usually home about 1:30pm. I'll just show up with everything on my body crossed that Clara and Mitch will let me see him. That's what I'll do. I'll take the coward's way out one more time because I _have_ to see him. I need his insight, his courage, to face what's coming, to face admitting to a room full of people that a woman's love brought me to my knees when she took it away which led to doing something stupid.

Well, I've admitted that before. What's one more time.

**Brass **

I've either made a really bad decision or . . .

I can't second guess myself now. I'm here and I'm not leaving even if he pitches a fit. I could always arrest him for disturbing the peace or something. Oh, he'd never let me forget that.

This is a good thing. It's what he needs, a friend to be here. He's done it for me a time or two and I've always appreciated it more than I've probably said. The last time, well, the last time I was glad he was there because he had impeccable timing which resulted in my being hit by a chunk of wood instead of the bullet that plowed into it. He wrenched his shoulder and had a shiner for a week. Got lots of pats on the back for that one and not one joke. Seemed his stature rose out of nerd status and I believe he was secretly pleased by it all. It still makes me smile to think on it.

The normal standalone thing he does isn't going to work here. Gil's tough when he knows what's coming but to sideswipe him, well, that just makes his eyes wobble and his face contorts into a puzzled frown that takes a long time to leave. That's how he looked through that whole Sara thing and I don't care to have a repeat performance. I didn't do enough last time but this time, this time I'm stepping up like a friend should.

My watch buzzes and I glance at it. He should be here soon. Hmm. I think I'll practice my nonchalant face (not that I need much practice) and make up stories about the people who pass by. Like this guy with the loud striped pants and bright blue shirt. Tourist from a color blind planet obvioiusly. Next . . .

**Grissom**

"Coincidences are a lot like organized religion. I don't believe in either."

Jim smirks, gives me a yawn and stands. "An airport is the best place to watch people.""

"So that's what you do when you get off work."

"Well, yeah. I get a kick out of the planes taking off, too. When's your flight?"

He's sidestepping. I grin. "I still have about an hour."

"Then let's have breakfast. My treat."

"Oh, there's a McDonald's here?"

"Ha-ha," he says with a straight face, moving ahead of me. "It's right over there," he points and I gamely follow.

"I'm serious. Shouldn't you be asleep or something?" I ask when I finally catch up.

"Are you saying I'm not getting enough beauty sleep?" he tosses back at me.

"Well, I didn't want to say anything." I can do the straight face, too, you know.

"I still have another four hours before I have to go to bed," he explains as he stops at the counter. "The Big Breakfast with pancakes and coffee," he says to the teenager behind the counter. "Gil?"

"Oatmeal, please, and chocolate milk." Jim looks at me. "I've a nervous stomach," I comment to which he nods then pays the kid. "I'll get us a seat."

Okay, Jim is here. Who told him? Catherine. It had to be. I guess mom could've called him but I'm not sure if she's talked to him since the last time they met. Conway could've . . .

"Before you ask," comes Jim's voice, "I was with Catherine when Conway called." I just look at him. "You had that look." He shrugs and sets the food down then takes a seat.

"I wasn't going to ask," I say, sipping my chocolate milk. He eyes me then digs into his eggs.

"Yeah, you were." I try not to smile and stir my oatmeal instead. "I think this is shitty, Gil. You're the most competent person I know."

"Well . . ."

He points at me with his spork. "I've seen you work sicker than a dog and get it right. I've seen you blind with a migraine and still see things no one else can. _You_ are not only the smartest man I know but the most detailed."

"And yet I asked a man to kill me." Well, that falls with a splat to the table like the syrup from Jim's pancakes. He hastily cleans it up.

"That doesn't take anything away from your smarts and you know it," he states, glaring at me slightly until I nod. "So, Conway couldn't get this kicked?"

"I didn't ask him to."

"Why not?"

"The thought didn't occur," I answer with a shrug.

"Gil, when are you going to learn to take advantage of your friends?" I smirk. "He _is_ your friend right?"

"Yes, but brown nosing a sheriff isn't exclusive to Vegas." Jim nods then scoops up his egg and sausage onto a biscuit. "I'm more worried about Simon's parents."

"His parents?" he asks around the biscuit.

I study the half eaten oatmeal then let loose of my spoon. "If they find out what I did in the store, I'm afraid . . . I don't think they'll let me see Simon anymore." Ah, my greatest fear is now out in the open.

"And that's very important to you isn't it?"

I give him a sad smile. "Simon is a tonic for a nervous man. He's helped me find my feet again. I don't want to lose that." Jim's quiet and so am I. My oatmeal has lost its allure so I nurse my chocolate milk instead and sit back in the chair.

"So, how's the head?" comes next and I appreciate him even more.

"Much better."

"Sara was worried," he throws in and I choke on my milk. He grins at me.

"What, ah, else did she say?" I manage nerves suddenly taut.

He chuckles. "Gil, Sara's as tight lipped as you so don't sweat it. As much as the gang is salivating to know where you guys stand nobody would dare ask."

"Oh, um, good." He's smiling again. I should be wary.

"Soooo . . . how are you guys?"

"Jim!"

"What? I love you two and want to know if you're going to be okay. I may act tough and all that but I worry, too, you know." I raise a brow. "Well, I do."

I try to keep a straight face but can't hold it in and start laughing. I don't even try to stop because this feels good and I need to take advantage of it since this could be the last time it happens for a while.

"That's good to hear," Jim says spearing a sausage.

"What?" I get out, holding my side as I attempt to catch my breath.

"You. Laughing," he answers as I wipe at my eyes. "I missed it. We've all missed it."

That kind of sobers me up. "Yeah, I've missed it, too."

"Anything I can do to help you know I'll do," he quips.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"_Southwest Flight 154 is now boarding at Gate 12."_

"That's my flight," I say glancing at my watch. "Damn, I thought I had more time."

"You were preoccupied," Jim tries as he crams in the last of his breakfast and is out of his chair before I can pick up my milk. He grabs my tray then his and heads toward the trash a few steps away.

"Are you that eager to be rid of me?"

"Nope," he answers then pulls the milk from my hand and dumps that as well. "Come on. You know how fast these short flights fill up. Gotta get a good seat."

Fortunately, my eyebrows are part of my face or they might fly off somewhere. Jim is acting oddly weird, much more than any other time he's acted weird, and it's off-putting to say the least. But he's waiting so I gather up my things and follow after him; tag after him again is more like it.

"Hey, Sheree," he calls out to the older woman at the check-in desk. She leans over and pulls out a duffle.

"Here ya go, Jim."

He smiles. "Thanks for keeping watch."

"Any time."

Grabbing up the bag, he turns back to me. "Come on. Seats remember."

My mouth is hanging open. I'm . . . gob smacked, bewildered. Confused, at least. Rolling his eyes, Jim takes my arm and pulls me past Sheree and onto the boarding ramp. Carefully easing me through the door of the plane, he takes my bag and his and stuffs them into the overhead as I sit, not taking my eyes from him as he moves into the seat next to me.

He takes his time getting settled and my brain finally catches up. He's doing what Paul wanted to do and Catherine offered – be my back up. He'll be the one that shoots daggers at that attorney until he withers away so I won't have to and I really need to tell him how much I appreciate what he's doing. But I know my voice will quiver if I were to express myself at this very moment but I can't remain silent, not after all this.

"Do they still hand out those stale peanuts?" he asks before I can get my tongue to work. "Or did they stop that because of all the food allergies? I just love those. Like hot dogs at a movie theater. They're just so rubbery. You can't find that texture anywhere else. Although I've . . ."

"Thank you," I quietly interrupt looking directly at him.

He returns my look then gives me a grin. "You've nothing to thank me for, Gil. It's what friends do for each other. Besides, I've been wanting to meet this Captain Polza. Sounds like a long lost cousin."

"Twin is more like it," I answer after clearing my throat. "I believe the two of you will hit it off."

"And Simon. I'd like to meet him, too. Do you think I could?" He looks hopeful.

"Um, why?" I ask genuinely interested.

"That's easy. Anyone who's figured out how to deal with a 'Grissom' needs to be listened to. _They_ are a rare breed." He smiles then so do I.

"I'd actually planned on coming to see him this weekend until Conway called." I look out the window. "But that might be too late so I'm making a surprise visit this afternoon."

"Will you take me? Will ya? Will ya?"

I give him a short laugh. "All right. Geez, you're so pushy."

"Good," he says with a smile. "And, for the record, if what you've told me about the Remingtons is true then I'm pretty sure they'll want to see more of you after tomorrow. They seem like the kind of people who care about making sure their boy gets what he needs. And you, my friend, are what he needs."

I shrug. "We sort of benefit each other."

"Whatever works."

Yeah. Whatever works. Ever since 'everything' that phrase has almost become a mantra for me, something I can cling to when need be.

"So what do you think about those peanuts?"

I shake my head and find I can't stop grinning.

_That_ is a good thing.

* * *

_I hope this was worth the wait. I'm so glad Brass was willing to step in because I love writing him. And, once I get him and Carmine Polza together, well, that should be fun._

_I also hope to get back to a more regular posting schedule now that I'll have ALL this time on my hands so you guys don't have to wait so long. Again I appreciate all of you for hanging in there._

_Happy Mother's Day for everyone who qualifies. (Do I qualify? I have a cat?)_

_Have a great week! :-D_


	36. Chapter 36

_Howdy! I know, I know. It's been a bit of time since my last post (it could've been that time warp thing I was caught in for a spell - that's my excuse and I'm sticking with it!) and I apologize. But, I'll have you know that I have Part 37 nearly ready. I wanted to make sure I had 2 parts to post while I figured out how to write a competency hearing._

_So, before continuing, let me thank my last reviewers: TessTrueHeart, stlouiegal, Sonoali-aka GrissomLover, Moonstarer, onthecorner, SevernSound, spottedhorse, SarahmUK and 'guest'. I reserve my special thanks for Hithui and NANCY1 for being, not only constant reviewers but my sounding boards to break that lovely, impenetrable writer's block wall that seems to crop up every now and then. You guys are the best!_

_(BTW, if any of you are Trekkers, or just sci-fi fans, and haven't seen the new Star Trek film, GO SEE IT NOW! It's absolutely wonderful and Benedict Cumberbatch is a perfect villain. Oh, and Ironman 3 is pretty good as well.)_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 36**

**Brass**** - Friday**

We have 65 minutes which is less than the 66 minutes the last time I looked. I thought time was slow in Vegas. I guess it's that 'a watched pot never boilsl' or some such nonsense. I look again. Still 65 minutes.

Gil is quiet. Been that way since I woke up but I'll not try to get him to talk. I know how he works. He has to size everything up, look at every angle, every bit of evidence, then tie everything together. I've seen him do it with nothing and miss it with everything. But that's why I'm here – to keep him moving ahead and not fall back. You know keep his spirits up as best I can.

Actually, I need to keep both our spirits up. No telling what's going to happen today. Nobody knows not even Roberts' scumbag attorney because I can guarantee you he's never been up against someone like Gil. The man's as cool as cucumber on the stand. He never rises to the bait or falters under accusatory comments. Of course, that's during a normal case when he's not the accused. But I figure he's got an edge this time. Get this - the prosecutor's name is Enos Bent. I bet 'Enos the penis' was his nickname in school and, oh, how I wish I had a button with that on it. I'd wear it proudly when I sit right behind him. But I know Gil won't let me so I won't even bring it up. (But it would be so good!)

We'd already spent the morning with Conway German and the attorney assigned to help, Porter Ramsey. Gil was quiet there, too, and I asked all the questions. As we were leaving it occurred that neither of us had had breakfast so I dragged him down the street to a nearby diner and was holding the door when a voice came up from behind us.

"Gil? Is that you?"

"Carmine," Gil said with a slight grin. "Ah, Jim Brass, Carmine Polza."

"I've heard a lot about you," I said shaking his hand.

"And I you, young man," Carmine gave back. "According to Gil we could be brothers, which could or couldn't be a good thing."

"I lean more towards a good thing."

"Then we should get on fine," he answered with a smile before turning a soft look toward Gil. "I know what's going on and I think it's a shitload of crap." He placed a hand on Gil's shoulder. "I want you to know I can take that bastard attorney out for you. Won't even break a sweat."

I waved him off. "Already got a no on that one."

Carmine sighed. "Gil, Jim and I are big guys. We can take out the dickwad in about a second."

"And they'd just get someone else," Gil stated.

"And we'll take them out, too." I kept my mouth shut as Gil glared at Carmine who finally got the message. "Geez, you're no fun."

Gil shook his head and led the way inside the diner, sitting at the furthest table from the door. "Just because I don't want you to commit murder doesn't mean I don't appreciate either of you," he finally said. "It would just start you in a life of crime and I don't want to be responsible for that."

It took both Carmine and myself a few moments to actually process what he'd said, turning wide eyes at him. He only grinned then motioned the waitress over.

"What'll ya have, boys?"

"Chocolate milk and a donut please," Gil ordered then looked at us.

"I'll have the same," Carmine said before sitting down.

"Me, too."

We spent a good hour talking about the differences between the L.A. and Vegas police departments before my alarm went off and we all fell silent.

"It's time to go," Gil quietly said, pulling out his wallet.

"Don't you dare," Carmine said, pulling out his own. "I expect to see you both for dinner tonight. No arguments," he said pointing a finger at Gil who simply nodded.

We thanked the waitress and headed out only to stop a few feet from the door when Carmine grabbed Gil by the shoulders.

"Remember this – no matter the outcome, no matter what anyone says _to _you or _about _you, you are a good man, one of the best investigators I've ever had the pleasure of working with. Don't ever forget that. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah," Gil returned. "I hear you."

"All right then. My job here is done." A distinctive ring rose up. It sounded an awful lot like the theme from 'Dragnet'. "Sorry. Work beckons." He smiled and grabbed his phone. "Don't forget. Dinner. Tonight!" he called over his shoulder before walking into the PD.

"I like him," I said moving to stand next to Gil near the corner, waiting for the red light to turn green.

"Me, too," was all he said, his face getting that pinched look he sometimes wears when he's about to go over the edge.

I couldn't do anything to get rid of it. All I _can _do is sit here with him these last . . . Geez.

55 minutes.

I sigh. Watched pot. Watched pot.

**Grissom**

I have 55 minutes to come up with a way out of this.

I suppose I could go to the bathroom then sneak out. But that would leave Jim here to pick up the pieces and that . . . that wouldn't be fair. He's been here for me when I needed it. He's managed to help me keep it together on this trip and, without him I might've just caught that flight to Australia and never come back.

But I could still . . .

Damn.

Who am I kidding. I've never been much of a risk taker. Look how long it took me to take a chance on Sara, to admit to myself and her that I . . . that I loved her, that I wanted her with me forever. And I still do.

I still do.

Rubbing my face, I lean forward and put elbows on my knees. "I called Sara this morning," I say to Jim.

"Oh?"

I nod. "Yeah. It occurred to me I hadn't thanked her for helping me the other night."

"What did she say?"

"You're welcome." I grin a bit then sit back hearing him chuckle.

"You're a wild man, Gil."

"I try to hide it but sometimes it just pops out."

That got me a genuine laugh and my grin turned into a smile. He'd laughed like that a lot yesterday when we met up with Simon. They'd hit it off. Somehow I knew they would even though that didn't make it any easier to actually get out of the car. I nearly asked him to keep driving. But then I saw Simon and couldn't just leave. Fortunately, I had both feet on the ground as he rushed across the lawn and leaped. I grabbed him in mid-air.

"Gil!"

His arms wrapped about me and I didn't want to let go preferring to hold on for as long as I could since I was pretty sure I'd not be seeing him again.

"Did you bring Hank?" he asked when he finally pulled back.

"No. He's at home. I had to fly out for a special meeting."

"Oh," he said. "Does that mean you have to go back after?"

"I might," I admitted not really wanting to think about it. "I won't know until tomorrow."

"Okay."

I hugged him again. "I'm sorry. I know we had plans this weekend."

He squeezed me around the neck. "I'm just glad you're here now. You get to meet Hairy."

I smiled. "I was hoping to."

"Hey, is that Simon?"

I turned around. "Simon, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. Jim Brass, Simon Remington."

"How do you do?" he said holding out his hand which Simon merely looked at before glancing over at me.

"He's a good guy," I whispered.

Slowly, Simon reached out and grabbed his hand. "I'm fine, Mr. Brass."

"Call me Jim."

"He's a Police Captain," I informed him after Simon remained quiet.

He brightened. "Really?"

Jim smiled. "Really."

"Wow."

"That's what I say every day."

Simon laughed as I set him on his feet. He grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the front door, Jim following after.

"Mom! Look who's here!"

"No yelling in the house," came Clara's voice as she emerged from the kitchen, stopping at the sight of us. Smiling, she gave me a hug. "Gil, I thought you weren't coming until Saturday."

"He's here for a special meeting," Simon informed her.

"I'm sorry I didn't call."

She waved me off. "Simon's been so excited you were coming maybe this will drain some of his energy."

"I don't think that's possible."

"Probably not," she answered, her eyes looking over my shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Jim Brass. He's . . ." I had no idea what to tell her.

"I'm part of the meeting tomorrow so he let me tag along with him," Jim immediately added holding out his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Remington."

She smiled and I relaxed. A little anyway.

"Please, call me Clara. Any friend of Gil's . . ." she said and I knew she meant it. This just kept getting worse by the minute. "Well, come on. We all know what time it is."

"Snack time!" Simon said with glee that made both of us grin.

"I'm afraid it's just celery, raisins and peanut butter. If I can get either of you something else."

"I haven't had ants on a log since I was a kid," Jim said.

"Well, come on into the kitchen then."

Simon clambered into the breakfast nook and pulled at my shirt sleeve to sit next to him as Clara brought in the tray and set it in front of us.

"I'll be outside in the garden. Call if you need anything."

"Okay," Simon answered for all of us.

She smiled, grabbed a hat and gloves and disappeared out the back door but not before letting in a dog who made a beeline for Simon only to stop and stare at both Jim and myself.

"Hairy!" Simon gleefully yelled then put a hand over his mouth. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Is this the famous Hairy Potter?" Jim asked.

"Yeah." Simon scrambled to his feet and gave the dog a hug then marched him over to me. "Hairy, this is my friend, Gil Grissom." The dog made a point of smelling my shoes, leg then hand followed by a lick. "Oh, he likes you."

"He must smell Hank."

Simon turned Hairy toward Jim. "Hairy, this is Gil's friend, Jim Brass."

"Nice to meet you, Hairy," he said as the dog slowly approached, smelling his shoes and leg then stopped, placing himself between Simon and Jim.

Simon leaned toward Hairy. "He's a policeman," he whispered. Hairy tilted his head then chuffed before licking Jim's hand.

"Oh, he likes you, too."

"How do you know when he doesn't like someone?" Jim asked gently rubbing Hairy's head.

"He growls or runs off and hides. Mom doesn't like it when he growls."

"Well, that's never good."

Simon shook his head. "No. He can be scary when he wants to."

"This little guy? Scary?" Jim asked.

"Oh, yeah. At the dog park a big dog chased me and he stopped him."

"He's your protector," I observed. "That's a good thing. He'll keep you safe."

"He's my hero," he said leaning over to kiss his head.

"It's good to have heroes," Jim said with a soft smile.

"Yeah. Gil's my hero, too," he said turning to smile at me. I couldn't help but smile back.

"Mine, too," Jim answered. My brows rose at that and I cast him a puzzled glance. He just looked at me before pushing himself to his feet, turning to Simon. "Hey, I need to ask your mom something so save me a log. I'll be right back."

His eyes caught mine before heading out and he winked. He'd said he was going to talk to Clara, feel her out about tomorrow. I wanted to tell him no, that I could do it myself but, apparently, since I didn't try to stop him, I'd left my balls back home.

Simon smiled after him then returned to sit next to me. "I like Jim. He's nice."

"I like him, too."

"Does he catch bad guys like Captain Polza?"

I nodded. "Yep."

"Good. We need people like him."

"Yes we do," I said with a small chuckle as I rubbed at my neck.

I watched Simon pick the ants off his log and eat them separately, watched Hairy try not to drool in hopes of getting something for his efforts, then remembered why I was there two days early. Any good feelings evaporated. I was still uncertain whether or not I should say anything but something was pushing me forward. Perhaps it was because we'd always been honest with each other. I believed I should remain so.

"Simon, I need to tell you something."

"What?" He looked at me with great expectation that nearly changed my mind.

I sighed. "I'm here early because I have to clarify some information on Rilly's case."

"Clarify?"

"Um, explain to some people how I figured out who the bad guy was."

"How come?" he asked, pure innocence reflected in that question.

Trying not to grimace and not sure how successful I was, I shrugged. "I guess they don't understand some things they should."

"That's silly," he answered, licking peanut butter off his fingers.

"I agree but I have to do it or they'll get mad."

"People shouldn't be mad at you. You're one of the good guys."

I flushed. "That may be so but if they don't like what I say there could be problems with the case."

"Like what?"

Oh, God, here it comes. "Well, it . . ." I stopped, not sure how to continue, and clasped my hands together on the table. "They just want . . ."

"It's okay, you know," Simon said grabbing another log. He chewed some then sipped at his apple juice before putting his hands together just like mine.

"Ah, it is?"

He nodded. "I heard mom and dad talking last night."

Damn, he already knows. "Oh?"

"I know I'm not supposed to," he admitted, "but I heard your name so I hid over there by the fridge," he pointed. "They were talking about Rilly and something about a-a special hearing. I don't know what that is but they looked upset."

I cringed, wondering why Clara let me in her house. I cleared my throat. "That's where I have to go tomorrow – that special hearing."

He patted my hand. "Don't worry. Mom and Dad'll be there to help you."

I couldn't help it – I dropped my head into a waiting hand and groaned then stopped when I felt a small hand on my arm.

"Are you okay?"

"He's gonna be fine," came Jim's voice as my head snapped up to see him reaching for a log, his eyes centered on mine.

"Are you sure?" Simon whispered. "He looks kinda green."

"Yeah, he gets that way sometimes when he flies."

I could've kissed him right then.

"I've never been on a plane but I threw up on the boat to Catalina last year. Mom said I looked like that."

Brass chuckled and scooted in next to Simon. "I remember once, when I was a kid, sneaking into the pantry and eating a whole box of chocolate chip cookies."

"I love those."

"Me, too, but I got soooo sick. All that chocolate made me puke my guts out. Didn't eat 'em for a year after that. Just looking at one made me sick."

"I did that with licorice, those red ones you get at the movies," Simon gave back, excitement pouring into every word. "What came up was gross."

And that's how it went for about five minutes, the two of them trading puke stories. I had to take deep breaths just to keep my stomach where my stomach should be, finally looking up to find no urgency or worry on Jim's face. He'd been out with Clara and he was sitting there like everything was okay.

Could it actually be okay?

"Hey, Gil," came Clara's voice making me gulp. "Would you come out here for a minute?"

"Sure thing," I automatically called back flashing Jim a look of pure terror.

"Go on. I've got a doozy of a story here for Simon about a great big purple blob of something I could never describe." I held his gaze for a moment. "It's okay," he quietly said before turning back to Simon. "Well, one night I was having dinner at this place that wasn't exactly nice like McDonald's you know and . . ."

I slowly walked away, hearing the joyous sound of Simon giggling as the story unfolded, and headed for the backdoor. Standing with my hand on the knob I sucked in a deep breath and opened the door, stepping out into the sunshine to see Clara's hat barely through three tall sunflowers.

"Over here!" she called and I dutifully walked over watching her place a pansy into the earth and pat the ground gently around it.

Rubbing dirt from her knees, she stood and pulled off her gloves, turning a smile on me before pointing toward the small bench a few feet away. I silently followed after her and sat down. She didn't waste any time.

"I know what's happening tomorrow," she began and I tried to keep breathing. "Our attorney informed us about it on Monday."

"Monday?" I asked daring a glance at her. She nodded. "I-I didn't know until yesterday."

"I've been expecting to hear from you since Tuesday." She peered at me and I met her look head on. "Your Mr. Brass told me how worried you are about all this. Don't be. You've given us back our son and found the man responsible for taking April from us. There's nothing that'll make us turn you away."

"But if they find against me, they'll throw out the evidence I gathered and Roberts won't be charged for April's murder."

"According to our attorney he'll be put away for Ally Corrs and all those other women he hurt. He'll be locked up. We know what he did to April. He'll pay for that, too, whether or not it's on his record."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about . . . You shouldn't have found out this way."

"Gil, none of that matters," she stated emphatically. "One had nothing to do with the other no matter how hard Roberts' attorney tries to make it so and I plan on telling them that tomorrow."

I blanched. "They're calling you to the stand?"

"Both Mitch and I have been prepared in case that happens."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Clara. I never meant . . ."

"It's not your fault. It's Jeremy Roberts' fault."

"Still I . . ."

Her hand found my arm and squeezed. "Please know that you have our full support, Gil."

A warmth spread out from her fingers and over my skin and I found my hand covering hers, my heartbeat slowing at the prospect that, at least for now, the day before everything could fall apart, I still had Simon, still had a refuge to run to when needed.

"That means more than anything else could," I admitted.

"We've wanted to give back to you. Now we can. Let us have that." She grinned at me and I nodded. "Would you and Jim like to stay for dinner? Mitch should be home in a few hours and I'm sure Simon would like to show you the dog park where Hairy gallantly saved him."

I knew we should probably check in with Conway, see if there were any last minute things I needed to know, but I really wanted to be with these people, with Simon, holding on as long as I could. I know Clara's assurances were heartfelt but after the hearing . . . I still couldn't be sure if I'd have all this tomorrow so I agreed to stay. I was a bit startled when Clara leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"Good. I'll let Mitch know he'd better be home on time."

She laughed then and headed into the house leaving me to wonder about people, about how they could turn away or hold on to the craziest things without batting an eye. I guessed I was the same since I couldn't get Sara out of my mind after our session; couldn't forget how she sat there and let me vent my frustration at her; how she helped me home when I could barely stand.

"You look puzzled." Jim's voice flowed over me.

"Yeah, like Hairy does when he sees a spider," Simon added.

I looked at the two then at Hairy whose head was tilted in question and shrugged. "People confuse me," was all I said, bringing a grin to Jim's face.

"Join the club," he said. "For now, though, we are going to visit the scene of the battle or, as I like to call it, the last stand of Elmo the mastiff."

Now I was just baffled.

"Where Hairy saved me," Simon added and it suddenly became clear.

"Ah, right. Do we need to give any speeches or a medal or something?" I asked as I stood, taking Simon's outstretched hand.

"No. He doesn't need stuff like that. He knows what he did and doesn't want to fl . . ., um, flan . . ."

"Flaunt it," I gave him.

"Yeah. That's a funny word."

"You know what else is a funny word?" Jim began. "Ballyhoo, not to be confused with Bali Hai."

"Or Bobolink, an American songbird," I added watching as Simon reached up to grab Jim's hand.

"Gobbledygook!" Simon shouted then laughed.

"Where'd you hear that?" Jim asked with a smile.

"Dad said it when mom was reading to him out of a computer book. She said his eyes were rolling around in circles."

We all laughed then as we made our way down the street and I could, for the afternoon at least, forget about tomorrow. I would pay anything to bottle that up and carry it with me. Ah, I guess that's what memories are for.

"Gil," came Jim's voice and I jerk up and look around. Damn. Back to the present. "Porter's here and wants to talk to you."

I nod and slowly rise, smoothing out my tie and rolling my shoulders, take two steps and stop dead as Jim pulls open the door. I stare at his back until he turns, gifting me with a questioning look. My mouth opens then closes and I fiddle once again with my tie. He lets go of the door and steps towards me.

"Gil? You okay?"

I close my eyes, take a deep breath then meet his gaze. "I'm . . . I'm scared, Jim." His hand settles on my shoulder. "It's on video, what I did. It's all there. I can't deny it nor can I explain it sufficiently to make it seem all right." I sigh. "I've never been in this situation before. I don't know how I'll react or even if I'll be able to say anything coherent."

"You'll not make a fool of yourself, Gil, so don't worry about that. The video is the video. I'm sure Porter will make sure to mention the extenuating circumstances that had nothing to do with finding Jeremy Roberts and the judge should be wise enough to figure that out."

"But . . ."

"As Carmine said you are an excellent CSI, Gil, with an impeccable record. And you're also a man susceptible to everything all men are – having their heart broken. One has nothing to do with the other." I want to believe his words. "I'll be right there, well, behind you, doing my best to bore holes where they'll do the most damage and, if things get out of hand, I'm still in pretty good shape to pummel whoever is bothering you if necessary."

"I'm doubtful that would help my case."

"Then how about this. Now, I'm not making light of the seriousness of your situation but I've found that, in moments like these, I do better when I can think of something else not even remotely near what's going on."

What the hell. "I'll try anything," I say.

"It's very simple. Are you ready?"

"Just tell me."

"Okay. Here it is. If it gets too much for you, say to yourself 'Enos the penis'." I purse my mouth and narrow my eyes and he smiles at me. "Trust me. It'll work."

"Are you guys coming in or what?" comes Porter Ramsey's voice from the door drawing our attention.

I pull my gaze back to Jim who mouths 'trust me' and find I can't keep a semblance of a grin off my face.

I really love that man.

* * *

_Okie dokie. Now it starts - the HEARING. Or it will in Part 38. Part 37 belongs to Sara as some of you have requested and should be up shortly._

_Although I'd really prefer to stay home and write that doesn't get the cat fed, so I'm going to start looking for a new job the first of June. Hopefully, I'll find something before October since that's when my severance runs out. Maybe I'll win that Writer's Digest contest and all will be right, or write, with the world! _

_Until next time, thanks for all past and future reviews. :-D_


	37. Chapter 37

_Howdy! Sorry for the delay in posting this part but I was trying to get a handle on the next part (which I'd started then promptly hit a wall). Once I figured out that I had to get out of the way of the story (slap, slap upside the head) things started to work again. (I should know that by now!) So, having said all that, I'm still feverishly working on Part 38 (hearing) which is slowly coming together. I'm apologizing ahead of time in case another week or two stretches out even further. (That's called CYA). :-D_

_And now for my thanks you's: Moonstarer, TessTrueHeart, Otie1983, SarahmUK, SevernSound, stlouiegal, NickyStokes, leah-audreysgramma, onthecorner, was spratlurid quimby, Hithui and, of course, NANCY1._

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 37**

**Sara** - Friday

One of the things I like about Philip Kane's office is that his magazines are up to date. Of course, right now, it wouldn't matter if they were a glimpse into the future because I'm not seeing anything on the glossy pages. All I can think about is what's going on in L.A. and how it clouds everything else.

Last night there were rumblings. You know, those bits and morsels that echo down the halls that, by the time they hit your ears, have changed to the most outlandish stories that can't possibly be true. The best one, the one that took the top prize, was Gil, competency hearing, Jeremy Roberts. I had a good laugh over that one until a few later I had to admit there was an infinitesimal ring of something to it. Truth? Not so sure, but something.

Well, I just had to know; had to ferret out if this was all part the inevitable betting pool (there was always a betting pool) or someone's idea of a bad joke. I can't tell you how many times my finger hovered over his name on my phone. I wanted to call, wanted to hear his voice, wanted to offer comfort. What stopped me was I hadn't heard from him since our session, since I took him home, and I . . . It wasn't like I had the right to call him. It was something I had to earn again and it was waaaay to early for that.

If he wanted me to know he'd call.

Besides he'd just tell me he was fine. Yeah, just like I'd be fine stuck in a seat getting grilled by some arrogant cockroach whose goal it was to break me.

So the phone returned to my hip and I kept myself to myself because I knew, if given the chanc,e Nick or Greg would ask me what I thought, had I heard from him, do you think he'll be okay, yadda, yadda, yadda. And, God forbid, Hodges came at me I'd probably cold cock him before he even expressed a syllable.

And don't get me started on Catherine.

Although she and I had come to a sort of agreement on things, this was just another bullet point to add to _ALL _the things I'd done to Gil. I'm sure she was keeping track. I'm sure, at some time in the near future, she'd walk up to me, punch me and no one would need an explanation. Of course, neither would I.

I sighed, rubbed my temples and . . . my phone began to ring. It was _his _ring, the one he'd giggled at when he heard it.

"It won't answer itself," Warrick commented as he walked past and I hastily grabbed it off my hip, raising it to my ear.

"Ah, hi." I sounded stunned. Damnit!

"Hey," came his calm voice. Well, it sounded calm but I don't know how it could. "I didn't catch you at a bad time did I?"

"No, no, I'm just waiting for Wendy to get back with me on a series of . . ." I trialed off. I sounded like a dork. "No you haven't." There was a chuckle. Of course, that could've been wishful thinking. "You're up late."

"I couldn't sleep." He paused for a moment. "I've, ah, been meaning to call and thank you for what you did the other night. When you helped me home, I mean, from our session."

I could hear him let out a long breath

"It was no problem," I said with a slight smile. "I'm glad I could help."

"You did, you were a big help. Mom was grateful you were there. And me, too," he hastily added and I could just imagine him rolling his eyes at himself. "I also wanted to apologize for, for ending the session that way. It wasn't my intent to . . ."

"Gil, did you plan on getting a migraine?" I asked.

"Ah, no."

"Then you've no need to apologize."

"I just didn't want you to think that I was trying to get out of . . . finishing things. I wasn't. I could feel it coming on but . . . I was going to get something at the gift shop and then BANG! It sorta fell on me like a building. I tried to get back but I couldn't move. I haven't had a bad one like that in a long time."

"You've been under a lot of pressure, Gil."

"I've been there before."

"Not like this," I reminded him. He was silent for a few moments.

"Yeah, well . . . yeah."

"If I'd seen it coming I would've stopped everything."

"I'm glad you didn't," came his quiet voice. "I'm not sure I could've started again if we'd postponed it. I kind of got carried away."

"That's the whole point of those things," I reminded him.

"Yeah, I guess."

I smiled. I loved it when he was uncertain about things. It made me want to wrap him in my arms and never let go. And the best thing about it - I don't think he ever knew that acting like that wrung such a motherly response from me. Don't think it ever occurred to him. Of course, I could've been extraordinarily wrong and he played me like a fiddle. Well, fortunately this fiddle didn't mind.

"I'm . . . I wanted to thank you for coming. I was afraid . . ." He trailed off.

"That I wouldn't show?"

"You were late and . . . You're never late."

"I almost left," I admitted, wondering if honesty (over the phone) was the best thing for me to do. "I seriously considered making like a chicken and running as far from the ax as I could but then I remembered something very important."

"And that was?"

"That I'd promised myself, if you asked me, I would be there for you as I wasn't before and nothing would stop me not even my own fears. I wouldn't do that to you again."

He cleared his throat. "And you were. I needed to say those things, to get them out in the open before I could even start thinking of a possible future for myself and, um . . ." Go ahead. Say it, say it! "And, ah, hopefully . . . you."

My breath caught, my eyes squeezed shut and I tried like the devil to regulate my heart that was now beating in my throat. Blowing in a paper bag would've worked real good right about then.

"I understand that," I managed, barely, hoping the tremor _I_ could hear didn't work its way through the phone. "Please know that you can always talk to me about anything. I meant what I said. I'm not running anymore no matter the outcome."

"I-I'd like to, no, I want to believe that, Sara, really I do."

"But it's going to take time," I said, giving him an out.

"Yeah."

"That's okay, Gil. Truly."

There was silence again and I knew he was thinking or deciding something. I could practically hear the wheels turning.

"Then I should probably tell you I'm in L.A.," he finally said. "Jeremy Roberts' attorney has called for a competency hearing. My competency."

God, it _was_ true.

"Is it because of the store?" I asked already knowing the answer.

"Yeah. At least I guess it is."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

I could've argued, ranted and raved, but that wasn't what he needed. "Is your mom with you?"

"No, she and Paul are pet sitting." There was a smile in his voice at that statement. "Jim's with me."

"I wondered where he was. Well, he's a perfect choice. He can growl with the best of 'em." Thank God, he wasn't alone. No one should have to face that alone.

"Snores, too. Listen," he said and soon snorts and sounds rocketed through the phone. "Now you know why I'm awake." I laughed at that. "Actually, I'm extremely grateful he's here. He surprised me although I don't know why. We've been backing each other up for years."

"He wants to make things up to you. What a better way than being a watch dog."

"Yeah, he's good company. But I'd rather be there than here."

"You'll do fine."

"I'm trying to believe that."

"Have you talked to Simon yet?"

"Yeah. Jim wanted to meet him so I took him over."

"Did it help?"

"I'd like to say yes but, since it's 3:00 in the morning and, despite Jim's snoring, I still can't get to sleep, then maybe it didn't." He was quiet for a moment. "I don't want to lose him."

"You won't, Gil."

"That's what his parents tell me." He sighs. "Jim says not to dwell. I'll just make myself crazier than I already am."

"It's not working is it?"

A bit of a laugh comes through the line. "No."

"Now from what you've told me about everyone in L.A., I'd bet good money that Conway will take all of you out to a good dinner to celebrate your coming through this with flying colors."

"Actually, Carmine has already offered. Besides, you don't bet."

"For this I would make an exception. You can't lose, Gil. Everyone here is behind you. I'd guess everyone in L.A. is behind you as well."

"Except maybe Dexter."

I giggled. "Well, you wouldn't want him behind you just waiting for an elevator."

He did chuckle then. I heard it plain as day.

"Thank you, Sara," came next, "for being at the other end of this call."

"Thank you for letting me be the one who answers."

He was silent again then cleared his throat. "Well, I should let you go. I'm sure you've got better things to do."

"Not better," I stated. "Try to get some sleep. Wouldn't want you imitating Jim in court tomorrow."

That produced a laugh quickly muffled. "Maybe I could just fall over in a faint and they'd have to postpone it, give me enough time to flee the country. I could blame it on the smog here clogging up my head."

I smiled. "Or the gridlock with all that exhaust."

"Oh, I like that one." He stopped again. "Well, have a good shift."

"Thanks. Um, let me know how, well, you know."

"Yeah. I'll try."

"Okay, then. Get some sleep."

"Yes, ma'am. Night."

And he was gone and I stared at my phone. Don't know what I was waiting for - that distinctive ring again, then his voice telling me he'd forgotten to express the one thing he'd called for. You know, that he LOVED ME! That he WANTED ME BACK! That ALL WAS FORGIVEN! Shouting in caps in my brain just gave me a headache so I rubbed my head, hoping to rid it of such possibilities. Hmm. Possibilities. Yes, it was a possibility now that, perhaps, one day in the future, all would be forgiven, he'd want me back and I'd know, from him, that he loved me.

Ah, lowercase was much better on my brain.

So, they weren't all rumors. He was in L.A., he was facing a hearing and Jeremy Roberts was involved. That bastard. I don't think he'll ever be out of our lives. I just wanted to be there; wanted to offer whatever support I could, anything to make up for everything. But Jim would take care of him. He would know what he needed.

"Hey, Sara, you okay?" came Wendy's voice and I glanced up at her concerned look. "You've gotta . . ." Her voice trailed off as her hand swiped under her eye right before she pointed at me.

Automatically my hand rose to find a wet streak trailing down my face. I quickly swiped it away. "Yeah. Um, have my results?"

Wiping away her worry, she smiled then. "I think you'll like them."

I took the readout and grinned. "Always a good reason to skip lunch."

And it was

Well, it was until I couldn't get away from the murmurings, the theories, the stories, the laughs and flat out lies that filtered their way through the lab. I wanted to shout I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON but there were those damnable caps again so I hid in A/V looking through an infinite amount of tape for a single solitary person that may or may not have committed a crime. It kept me out of the way so my mouth wouldn't go off the deep end and I'd have to face Catherine. And it worked until an overly loud conversation made its way to me from two dayshift guys walking down the hall.

"Grissom's toast," one said.

"It's not his fault. It's Sidle. She's like a leech. Sucked the marrow right out of him until he went off the deep end now he's gonna pay for it when they fry him in court."

My breath caught, my hands shook and I had to leave.

Shift was over and I took no time saying my goodbyes but lit out and drove and drove until I ended up at Gil's to stare at his front door, debating with myself if I had the right to ask Annie for anything. Our conversation the night I brought Gil home opened a doorway for me but I'd just done her son a kindness. Now he was going to be crucified for something that I inadvertently caused but was my fault nonetheless.

So I drove away and found myself here at Philip's office. My appointment isn't until tomorrow but I'll just wait and see if he'd like to go to breakfast or lunch or sit in the park or . . .

"Sara?"

His voice cuts through my reverie, my head pops up and I nearly unseat myself, the glossy magazine dropping to the floor. "Yeah, yeah, it's me," I finally say picking up the magazine as I stand and look expectantly at him. "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course. Come on in," he says with a smile. "Actually, I don't have any appointments until 10:00am so you caught me at a good time. Can I get you anything?" Always the gracious host.

I shake my head. "No. But, thanks."

"Have a seat," he offers pointing to one of the chairs opposite his desk. I sit, then cross and uncross my legs, watching him take the seat next to me instead of behind his desk. I haven't the foggiest where to start. Fortunately, Philip is psychic.

"I assume you're here because Gil's in L.A.?" I can't help but bark out a short laugh before my hand can cover my mouth. "What?"

I hold up a hand. "Sorry. Yes, yes I'm here because Gil's in L.A."

"How did he sound?"

I can't really keep the smile from my face at the remember conversation. "Tired but good. He thanked me for helping him home."

"That's good."

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Of course."

I look at his easy smile and know he's not making fun of me and grin back then shrug. "It made me feel good."

He nods. "So why do you blame yourself that Gil's in L.A.?" Philip bluntly asks and I blanch. He's scary psychic.

"Ah, well, it's a competency hearing because of what he did in the store." I suddenly want to smack him. That's such a stupid question.

"It may sound stupid," he adds, "but it's a valid question."

God, the word bubble above my head is way too loud. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me," he answers and I sigh. Shrinks.

"Philip, do we have to go over this again?"

"Humor me."

I sigh. "Fine. I walked out on Gil and he . . . He gave up, walked into that store and . . . Now do you remember?"

"Oh, I remember. I just want to know why you're determined to take all the blame for yourself."

"Were you not there when he told me how much I hurt him?"

"I was. But you must remember that each person is responsible for their own actions no matter the reasons behind them."

"You're kidding right?"

"No."

"Philip . . ."

"Sara, Gil walked into that store and chose to stay when that man pulled a gun and killed someone. It was a choice he made . . ."

"Because he thought that was his only choice."

"Why?"

"Because of what I did!" I yell and move to my feet, heading towards the window and back again. I don't want to yell at Philip. I don't want to yell at anyone. Not really. "If this hearing goes wrong, if his evidence is thrown out, Jeremy Roberts . . ."

"Will still be convicted on other crimes."

"But not on the crimes that mean the most to him," I point out.

Philip raises his brows and I lower my head. "Allie Corrs and April Remington." I merely nod. "And you think that will be the end of Gil?"

I stop my pacing. "I don't know."

He taps fingers against his knee and hums a bit before shaking his head. "You don't think much of him do you?"

My mouth drops open. "What?"

He shrugs. "Well, you seem to forget the strength it took for him to realize his error and talk that man down in the store or to step foot inside and face CSI's from another state or to even meet with you and lay himself bare." I sit down hard in the chair and he leans forward. "Now, despite what I just said, I know you think the world of him, Sara. So do I. But, what you've failed to take into consideration is that he's managing to put himself back together with the help of his mother, the Fab Four, Catherine and Jim."

"And Simon."

"And Simon," he repeats with a slight grin. "Even you, Sara."

"Me?" He's got to be kidding.

Philip raises a hand. "He wants to get back to that peace he had with you. The more he finds of himself the easier that will be. It's a goal for him, something he's sure now he wants. It's just going to take time. You staying through everything showed him you want the same thing."

"I do."

"Then know that if Gil had been called into court at the beginning of all this, I would be very concerned for his wellbeing. But, time has passed and I'm sure the group in L.A. will have his back."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Director German contacted me about the hearing two days ago," he informs me.

I narrow my eyes. "And you didn't warn him?"

"That wasn't my place, Sara. The Director was requesting information on Gil's mental status and whether or not he could handle such a hearing."

"And you gave it?"

He nods. "It's my job as his psychiatrist to make sure he's capable of regaining his position as Nightshift Supervisor. If another Director requests information about this person, who happens to be one of their consultants, then I must provide it. And it's my belief that Gil's more than capable of handling the hearing."

"But what if you're wrong?"

It's a devastatingly simple question filled with so many avenues of crazy there's no way to predict the outcome. And, yet . . . and, yet, it scares me that he'll have to sit in a courtroom and be interrogated by some name-grabbing attorney who doesn't know him, doesn't care how much that man has done for us, for the victims, for the families that remain. All he'll care about is ripping him a new one and smile while doing it.

"You know Gil, Sara, probably better than any of us. Despite everything that's happened, what I saw during your session told me all I needed to know. Did it not show you the same?"

I frown. "Is it too much not to speak in shrink-ese?"

He chuckles. "Sorry. My objective is to let you come to your own conclusions without me leading you by the nose."

"Here's my nose. Lead."

"All right. What it showed me was that he's no longer afraid of being honest with you. In the past, he's always been a bit frightened of letting you see him completely, thinking you'd leave and he'd be lost. Well, he'd not given you 100% and you left anyway and he was lost but he survived. He could've let that man kill him but instead talked him out of it; he could've refused to talk to you but he agreed; he could've holed up in L.A. and never been seen again but he came back to Vegas. He's found an inner strength and that's what will see him through this hearing."

I say nothing.

"He called you, Sara. He called to tell you where he was and what was happening. I'd say that's a step in the right direction."

"Jim's with him."

"And that's a good thing," Philip states as I nod.

"Yeah, he's been my rock. Now he's Gil's. Couldn't ask for anyone better."

"But you wish it was you he was relying on."

I kind of chuckle. "Yeah, well, . . ." There's no point in finishing that sentence. "I was just surprised when he told me where he was. I was grateful he trusted me enough to tell me."

"He's come a long way as have you."

"I haven't."

"Sara, you took everything he dished out and was there to help him in the end. That's a new direction for you based on your assessment of yourself." I shrug then nod when it occurs to me he's right.

"I'd been hearing things all night and wanted to call him."

"But you didn't."

I shook my head. "No. I figured if he wanted me to know . . ." I trail off and pull at my fingers.

"Tell me what you heard."

I sigh and look up at the ceiling. "When I heard the first rumors I immediately felt guilty. I knew it was about the store. What other reason could there be? And I knew that, whether or not he could've walked out of the store and didn't, I was still the reason he thought about staying. There's nothing you can say to alleviate that feeling so don't even try," I quickly add when I see his mouth open. "It is what it is. I'll deal. And I was until I heard someone say that I was a leech, that I'd sucked the marrow from Gil and that's why he wouldn't make it through this hearing."

"The final straw?"

"Pretty much," I answer with a nod. "I drove to Gil's but couldn't impose my need for absolution on Annie. I'm sure she's just as worried."

"Didn't you two feel a connection that night you took Gil home?"

"Yeah, but that was different."

"Sara, if Annie bore you any ill will, she was within her rights to kick you out of the house once Gil was tucked away. She didn't. In fact, if I remember correctly, you both had a long chat."

And we had. I talked, she listened, then told me a few things about Gil's dad and how all relationships suffer through setbacks both large and small. She'd told me Gil loved me, still loved me despite everything then took me into her arms when I cried. I'd tried to push away but she wouldn't let go and I gave in.

"She's gotta be a saint or something," I profess, "to accept me still after everything. I'm not sure I could be that forgiving if it was my son in the same situation."

"I'm sure you'd surprise yourself."

"Maybe." I shrug and try not to think on it. "I'm still worried about Gil. Inner strength or not, this hearing is going to bring everything back up."

"It _will_ hurt him, I won't deny that, but he's aware of something he wasn't before."

"What?"

"He's not alone. That'll make all the difference in the world."

Not alone. He wasn't alone before but couldn't get it through his head that everyone would help, so intent on going it alone.

Silly man.

"So, you think he'll be okay?" I ask hoping Philip gives me a human answer and not some shrinked version.

"I would say as long as Jim doesn't beat the crap out of anyone and they both end up in jail," he began, his smile growing large, "he should be okay."

That made me laugh and, somehow, made me feel better because I know that Jim would do just that if anyone looked funny at Gil.

I'll always treasure the time good fortune shown upon me the day I met Jim Brass then let me be his friend. And, the moment he decided to stand with me much like he was doing for Gil now, was the time I wrapped him in gold ribbon.

I glance at my watch and nerves descend.

It's nearly time.

* * *

_*The Dexter that is mentioned refers to Dexter Richter, first mentioned in Part 22, who is the Chief Medical Officer at the L.A. Coroner's Office. Oh, and he's a dick. :-D_

* * *

_Okay then. Tick-tock, the hearing's about to start! Any bets on whether or not it'll be Gil or Jim who will call Bent 'Enos the Penis'? Or will it be someone else? Hmm.  
_

_Off I go. Hope you enjoyed this. :-D_


	38. Chapter 38

_I've been having oodles of trouble with this hearing and apologize for another delay. This section sort of took over so I decided to post this while I wrestle further with the actual goings-on of the hearing itself in hopes of finding a bell ringing clear moment that will push me in the right direction. My difficulties relate to how to make a boring witness questioning not. Visually seeing a trial on TV is way easier than writing one so I've decided to skirt what I consider the normal way to showcase a trial and go with something completely different. At least, I believe it's different when it may, in fact, be something that really happens._

_So, while I continue to make slow progress I thought this set-up turned out pretty good and wanted to appease my faithful readers with something. I hope you enjoy and thank you again for your patience.  
_

_My many thanks to: Sarafly (most excellent!), SarahmUK, SevernSound, was spratlurid quimby, 'guest', stlouiegal, onthe corner, Otie1983, and leah-audreysgramma._

_A special thank you to the following who've helped me plenty, providing insight into the court system and other things: NANCY1, TessTrueHeart and Hithui.  
_

_PS: There's a fair amount of profanity in here (Brass is really worked up) that just seemed to fit. And I've never texted in my life so please forgive my bastardize shorthand. (See there's that profanity again.)  
_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 38 **

**Brass**

"You're shittin' me?" I say. It just pops out because this is so ludicrous.

"Unfortunately, no," Porter Ramsey answers, wincing as he does so. I need to punch something, anything, and Enos the penis is at the top of my list. "Bent saw you sitting outside with Dr. Grissom and added you as a witness. If he can present reasonable cause for such a thing most Judges will allow it."

"Jesus," I mutter trying not to get too excited for Gil's sake.

But it's very difficult to keep quiet when I can't stop thinking on how stupid this is. He doesn't know me, doesn't have a clue what I'll say. Why I could . . . There's no telling what I could do. I've got a lot of things to say to that asswipe like what kind of puke sack takes on a job representing a scumbag like Roberts? Yeah. That would make me feel _real_ good. Or does he know I could reach in and pull his guts through his ass, stomp on them a few times and stuff 'em back in? So what if he had trouble dumping for a while. It would make _me_ smile.

Damn. Gil would _never _let me call him an asswipe let alone stomp his guts.

Man, life just ain't fair sometimes.

"Murphy's Law," comes from Gil with a sigh and a resigned shrug before he plops himself down looking like someone just ran over Hank.

"Now, Gil . . ." I start but it doesn't work.

"He's going to use you against me, Jim," he says. "You tried to help but I was too bound up in feeling sorry for myself to notice."

"Nobody uses me, Gil. You should know that by now."

"From what I've heard from Conway," Porter quickly interjects, "who heard from a Catherine Willows, if someone's in trouble, Jim Brass is a force to be reckoned with. And, if that someone is a friend, well, he's like a 'freaking F5 twister from Hell'."

I grin at Gil. "Catherine loves me."

"That seems rather tame for Catherine," he counters raising his brows in question.

"Well, I did, ah, clean it up a bit," Porter admits, poking through his papers.

"I'm screwed," Gil whispers then closes his eyes.

Porter faces him. "Dr. Grissom, take heart. Things may not be as bad as you think."

Gil's eyes open and a look of 'what the fuck' travels across his face to match mine. I can't let that slip by and ask the question. "And what on Earth brought you to that conclusion?"

"Simple. Bent must prove reasonable cause for this request. What happened in the store has nothing to do with the evidence Dr. Grissom found months later. He doesn't have a leg to stand on and he knows it."

"Then why do this?" I ask.

"Because he's a prick," comes Conway German's voice and we all turn to see the CSI Director sauntering towards us. "Hey, Gil, how's it hanging?" he asks with a quick pat to his shoulder then frowns at the look he gets in return. "Okay, then, dumb question," he answers then sits in the closet seat. "Look, Gil, what you need to keep in mind is that you realized your error and tried to talk the man down. You're not responsible for his death any more than the evidence you found against Jeremy Roberts is faulty. You were suffering from what us non-medical people call a great big giant funk and the Judge will understand that The Penis is just blowin' smoke."

I laugh. I can't help it. It just pops out even though Gil's face is quickly hidden behind his hands followed by a muffled groan.

"What?" Conway asks as I shake my head.

Gil drops his hands and runs them along his legs. "What about the Remingtons?" he asks.

"Both are on his list and mine," Porter acknowledges. "The court gave them the option of sending in their statements but they declined. I made sure they wrote everything down anyway."

I watch Gil grimace and sink a finger under his collar, stretching it out slightly. "They've been through so much," he says.

"Mrs. Remington was adamant," Porter begins, "and I quote, 'I'm going to tell that man exactly what I think of him', unquote. I wasn't sure if she meant Roberts or Bent."

"Probably both," I answer. "She thinks all of this is crap and so do I."

"This happens all the time," Conway states with a dismissive wave of the hand, slowly lowering it when Gil and I glare at him. He clears his throat. "I've had dealings with this Judge. She's tough but fair and hates it when attorneys bring in cases that are a waste of taxpayer's money. And she absolutely despises over-the-top theatrics. All she wants are facts, clean and nice, and nothing else."

"Then why bother at all?" I ask. "That's what this is going to be. A grandstand for some pompous lawyer."

"Bent brought it up," Porter answers with a shrug. "Legally, it has to be looked at."

"Enos has settled his gaze on the higher courts," Conway continues, "and the only way he can get there is defending scumballs like Roberts. That sort of case appeals to some of the larger law firms. You know, bigger paychecks, lots and lots of media."

I thought Gil's eyes were going to pop out of his head.

"Media?" he whispers, voice cracking slightly.

My hand finds its way to his shoulder again and I hold on tightly as Porter shakes his head.

"Don't worry, Dr. Grissom. This Judge doesn't stand for that. I'll make sure to check the halls before you leave." Leaning over, he pats Gil on the arm. "I believe this'll go better than you think."

"Don't tell him stuff like that, Mr. Ramsey," I toss in. "He's a natural worry-wart. If he can't worry he wouldn't know what to do with himself."

I smile at Gil, hoping to coax something out of him. Around the firm set to his mouth I do see a slight tug to one side. It's better than I'd hoped for. And I'll take whatever I can get.

**Grissom**

Not only do I have to be a witness for my own competency but now so does Jim. That's just shit!

Oh, and I can't forget the Remingtons going through this as well. Crazy bad shit!

And if I so much as think Enos the penis I'm going to say it!

I'M SHIT OUT OF LUCK!

Trying to concentrate on Jim's hand on my shoulder, I can and will draw strength from it because I need to. He's been my rock since we've been here. He's always been my rock despite my inability to accept it sometimes or even recognize it. I can be very obtuse, or blinkered as Catherine calls it, stuck as I am on finding the evidence in everything I do. Socially inept is also a good one that bothers me more since I allowed Sara to slip past all my defenses.

Sara.

A buzzing catches my ear and the thought of her slips away as I retrieve my phone from its pocket to find a text from Philip.

"'Bleev me yr gna B fine. U, my friend, need only 2 no 1 thing - make sure the Fab guys dnt capsize boat and bring home lots of bass.'"

My grins grows a shade bigger. This is the second text today wishing me well. The first came from the Fab guys themselves making sure I remembered our weekend outing. I guess Paul hadn't told them I might not make it. Simon was so looking forward to that. Mitch was coming, too. Well, if things didn't work out, they could still go. The guys would take care of them in my absence.

Pocketing my phone, I feel a great desire for Mom and Paul's presence. They both can see through the haze and get straight to the issue at hand while I linger on details. And, I admit it, sometimes I just want my Mom. But I will take heart in the fact that she, too, is in my phone courtesy of another good luck video sent this morning. The whole group - Mom, Paul, Hank and the kids - sitting on the couch singing 'It's a Great Day for me to Whup Somebody's Ass' as loud as they could. In the end that might be what saves me.

"Oh, I thought we'd be late," comes Mitch Remington's voice and my head shoots up. He smiles at me and nods towards Clara behind him. I stand as they approach. "Sorry we weren't here sooner but we couldn't find a place to park."

"It's a bitch on Fridays," Conway gives back.

"Gil, I have a message from Simon," Clara quietly says as she nears.

She's holding out a piece of paper which I take and unfold. The words, deliberately written in a neat hand on lined paper, fill my head and heart with what a treasure I've been given. I must never forget that gift.

"What's it say?" Jim asks me as I sit down.

"'We must try not to sink beneath our anguish but battle on'."*

"Sounds very King Arthur-y," he says and I shake my head.

"Something Albus Dumbledore told Harry Potter."

"Well, then," Jim says with a nod, eyes twinkling, "it's true."

I frown and do what I probably shouldn't. "What's true?"

A smile blossoms. "The reason Simon knows how to handle a 'Grissom' is because _he's_ a little _you_." Conway snorts and I purse my lips, scowling at him.

"He wanted to be here," Mitch cuts in and I glance over, "but we were adamant about him not coming. This is no place for him, especially if . . . that man is here."

"No child should have to enter these halls for any reason other than a field trip. And even then," Conway adds, pulling at something on his sleeve.

"Roberts won't be here. Just his attorney," Porter informs them much to their relief.

Mitch puts a hand to his chest then takes a seat and I'm glad Roberts won't be here. I really don't want to look at him again, to be reminded of . . . so many awful things.

A crunching noise meets my ears. My hand has flexed about the note and crumpled it so I ease up and let the wonder of Simon soothe my frayed nerves. When he does things like this I'm not that far behind Jim's assessment – he _is_ a little me. Mom's eyes light up when I relate these happenings and I recognize the reaction. I've seen it directed my way many a time. Clara sits next to me, jogging my thoughts away from things, and I hold up the note.

"Thank you. I . . ."

Abruptly, she takes hold of my hand, interrupting what I'm about to say.

"Simon also made us promise that we would protect you," she quickly says as if I'll try to stop her. I don't. "We're to make sure everyone knows what a good man you are and how you helped our family. We plan on doing just that."

I'm . . . stunned? Why, I don't know, but my mouth hangs open anyway.

"Even if this wasn't you; if it was someone I didn't know, no one has the right to publicly embarrass a person over something as absurd as this just so they can shave off a few years from a madman's sentence. I'm appalled that it's actually being considered." She looks down at her hands and realizes she's nearly squeezed the life from mine and hastily lets go. "I'm sorry. I'm just . . ."

"It's okay," I say, curbing the urge to wring my hand to get circulation going again.

"This whole thing just pisses me off!" she exclaims.

This time it's my turn to grab _her_ hands with both of mine and hold tightly.

"She _is_, too," Mitch informs everyone, a serious look on his face. "You should've heard her on the way over."

Clara blushes and I actually let go with a fraction of a grin.

"We all are!" Conway adds thumping the seat next to him with the palm of his hand. "You should've heard _me_ on the way over."

"I've been stuck in the car with him when he goes off," I whisper to Clara. "It's not pretty."

She gives out a slight laugh and that, somehow, makes me feel better. Not enough better to think all of this is going away anytime soon but enough to remind me there are other people out there, good people, who can look past everything and see the person beneath.

I know. Everyone's been telling me that. I'm a hard head. That's what got me into this mess to start with.

"Bent's added Captain Brass to the witness list," I hear Porter tell Conway.

"I can be very irritating without much effort and still appear helpful," Jim adds.

"He can," I agree with a nod.

"Well, then we should have a . . ." Conway begins and I tune him out.

It's probably not a good idea, tuning him out . . . Okay, it's a bad idea but it's hard for me to stay focused. My mind keeps wandering back to places I'd rather be like with Simon in the park yesterday relating his story of Elmo the mastiff; or how Clara kissed me on the cheek and told me not to worry; when Carmine offered to take care of anyone who ticked me off; and even Jim who put 'Enos the penis' in my head that now won't leave me alone.

And then there was my conversation with Sara.

Yeah, Sara.

That thought narrows my focus slightly as I recall the feelings that emerged from our short talk, the ones with warmth and comfort attached. I was actually proud of myself for not shying from them and just now realize it took me only a few minutes to fall asleep after that call was over.

Hmm. I wonder if that means anything.

Oh, stop. This is not the time to think on what may come.

But, if I'm doing that then I'm not thinking of other things that make me gag.

I clutch Simon's note tighter. There's a great big gusty sigh building but I fear letting it loose will reduce me down to something resembling Judge Doom from 'Roger Rabbit'. I wonder if my voice will go squeaky, too.

"Gil?" comes Conway's voice at me and I jump a little, looking up to see everyone staring at me. He waves a finger at me. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

"Not much," Jim answers for me and I try not to flush but I can already feel my ears heat up.

"Gil, Gil, Gil," Conway continues with a shake of his head. "You do know that everyone on the team has rounded up their feelings about all of this into one big giant representation of this." Proudly, he gives the middle finger salute. "Excuse me, Mrs. Remington."

"I agree."

"Excellent. And they've all got their names on the witness list," he says pointing toward the pile of papers in front of Porter who hastily hands one over which is then held in front of my face. "All of these people listed here have willingly, without hesitation, provided their own statements on your behalf. The Judge has them in her hot little hands. Do you see all these names? Do you?"

"Yes, Conway." Those are a lot of names. More names than I actually worked with.

"Good because all of these people are bound and determined to get across to the Judge that you, my friend, are worthy of their respect. The Sheriff is even on here."

"Dexter's not there, is he?" I ask, thinking he'd be better suited for 'the penis's' list.

Gahh! I've got to stop that!

"Please. I wouldn't have him sign a get well card." He leans towards me. "I just want you to know that no matter what happens today, no matter what The Penis drags up or the Judge decides, all of these people," he says flicking the paper, "have expressed their desire to work with you again. And, as you can see, my name's right at the top." He smiles then and I want to thank him but don't want to jinx anything. Jinx! What am I 9? "So, if all these jaded Los Angeles people think you're a rock star and all of your neon Vegas compadres kiss your shoes, _you_ are going to be fine."

"Neon Vegas compadres?" Jim asks.

Conway shrugs and waves it off. "I got that off some Bugsy Siegel History Channel thing. What matters is the _sentiment_ in which it's delivered."

"Here, here," Clara tosses in with a smile.

I nod and sigh, not the big deflating one but enough to make me feel vaguely in control. I can't give in completely though to what Conway's trying to do. Jim's right – I am a worry-wart – and, sometimes, I prefer to be in that space. Mom always called me a pessimist since my first thoughts fell towards what _could_ go wrong. It's kept me out of a bunch of trouble and I'm not willing to just set all that worry training aside and give in to the possibility that everything will turn out all right. No way. I've got Simon's words in my hand and a fuzzy idea that, if this goes as haywire as I'm expecting, a job cataloging insects in some jungle somewhere will suit me just fine.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

"Well, it looks like the gang's all here?" comes a voice behind us.

I stiffen. Just the sound of that voice tells me it's him, ready and waiting to pounce.

"Enos," Porter acknowledges, no hint of anything but professionalism in the tone. The man's good.

Penis-penis-penis flutters through my head and I don't turn for fear the word will travel off my tongue in record time once I see him. Silence reigns about me but I can feel the burn of the others' glares as they shoot past me and decide I can't ignore him when he's got me on the witness stand so I'd better look now.

I turn.

Hmm.

With a name like Enos Bent I figured he'd try to dispel what it conjures and look more like a leading man. This _is_ California after all, home of Hollywood and beaches and plastic surgeons. Oh, he's tall and thin, but emaciated thin and what little hair he has is slicked back flat to his skull. He has, however, ventured to a dentist what with those big teeth seeming to sparkle in the courtroom's bright lighting. Dressed in a 3-piece cream colored suit, a very thin line of gold running through the fabric, it makes him look pastier than some corpses I've seen. And the bow tie . . . Well, that and the watch fob fit right in with the ensemble and I fully expect spats to be on display but find they are just regular leather slip-ons. He was obviously going for the theatric and those shoes just ruin the entire package.

He shoots me a creepy smile with an extra curl of the lip and I'm pretty sure I fail at covering up the quick flinch _that_ causes. Of course, I could've imagined that curl. I didn't get much sleep last night.

"Any other last minute items, Enos?" Porter asks as the man slowly draws his eyes from mine.

"None at the moment. But who knows what will come as we proceed."

There's that smile again. I wasn't imagining that curl. It's part of his face.

Turning away to take a deep breath, I wipe sweaty palms on my pants, making sure the note doesn't get to far from me. Repeating to myself that I've been examined by slimy attorneys before and handled everyone doesn't hold much water since I was never the one on trial. But I can't be anything but truthful. Any question he asks I've probably already asked myself and can't hide from what I did or what I intended to do so I won't.

"Everyone take your seats," comes from the bailiff near the Judge's bench who waits patiently while we settle. I didn't even see him come in.

Clara squeezes my arm and gives me a smile while Mitch sends me a thumbs up as I cross the bar only to be stopped by Jim.

"Just remember," he whispers. "I'm can jump over there and ring his scrawny neck. Just give me a sign."

"I don't have enough money for bail," I whisper back, "so try not to do that. Okay?"

"All right," he sighs. "I'm right back here if you need me."

I grin at him and pat his arm. "I'm relying on that."

Taking my seat next to Porter, I let loose a breath and close my eyes, trying to calm my nerves. It doesn't work. I don't really see how anything could besides an entire bottle of Scotch.

"All rise," the bailiff starts again and we do. "The Superior Court of the State of California, County of Los Angeles, is now in session. The Honorable Judge Elisabeth Payson presiding."

Here we go. Whether this ends up as career suicide or redemption of my psyche I cannot say nor will I try. I'll only think on Dumbledore's words to Harry and the little boy that made sure _I_ knew he had my back.

Maybe that's all I'll need.

Actually, that _is _all I'll need.

* * *

_*__The Harry Potter quote is from 'Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince'_

_Judge Doom in 'Roger Rabbit' was flattened by a steam roller_

* * *

_Now it shall begin. (I may have said that last time. I really mean it this time.) Enos is ready to be creepy, Jim's ready to bash some skulls and Clara might just kick somebody's butt.  
_

_I shant put a timeframe on the hearing but I will immerse myself into it to get the best dramatic punch (hopefully) I can and if that means messing up how a real court functions then so be it. This is DRAMA not real life (as my dad informs me) even though I feel I need to know what REALLY happens before I can mess with it. He suggested the Judge enters and automatically dismisses everything without anyone saying a word. I thought about that but it seemed like a cheat since we've been building up to this for a while. However, if the majority of you think I should do just that, let me know and I shall consider it. Me, I lean more toward the dramatic (in case you couldn't tell) and I always want to serve the characters and the story as best I can. _

_Well, that's enough for now. I hope you enjoyed this part. Happy 4th (for those in the states)! Tallyhoo!_


	39. Chapter 39

_Well, when I announced that the chapter I'd written was boring and had to be reworked, I hadn't sent it off to my Beta. I began a reformulated chapter interweaving parts of the hearing with what happens after when, lo and behold, my Beta said to me 'Why do you think this is boring? It's GREAT!' Now, she's been right pretty much most of the time, so I went back in, punched it up a bit, added/changed/deleted stuff and now I think 'hmm, this isn't as boring as I thought'. _

_Of course, that's just us. So, for those of you who think this is still boring, I apologize and blame it totally on my Beta. (Gee, Mom, thanks.) However, if you like it, I am obliged to make dinner for her in thanks. (Whatever you want, Mom.)_

_I've broken the hearing into 2 parts, separating out Grissom into his own section since this is his hearing after all. And, I know a real court doesn't function this way (at least I don't think it does), but it serves the story (you know what a drama queen I am) so sit back and enjoy all the POV's that crop up in this part._

_As always thank you to: SarahmUK, Moonstarer, Otie1983, My Kate, stlouiegal, 'guest', onthecorner and SevernSound. Special thanks to: Hithui, Nancy1, and TessTrueHeart for your specific help with procedure (if I forgot anyone let me know and I'll add you to the next part), along with everyone else who expressed themselves that I should show the courtroom antics instead of merely having the Judge do her thing. _

_Here we go. Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 39 - The Hearing  
**

**Grissom**

A very short, very tired looking woman makes her way to the bench, a large Starbuck's coffee in one hand and a fat wad of paper in the other. Dropping into her chair with a loud sigh, she grabs her glasses hanging about her neck and doesn't look at anyone as she sorts through said paperwork. I glance at Porter who gives me a nod then over at Bent who seems entirely too relaxed.

"Please be seated. Court is now in session," the bailiff finishes.

"Okay," Judge Payson begins as we sit. "We're here regarding Case #05C0-CC-1174 on the impeachment of evidentiary findings by Dr. Gilbert Grissom associated with Case#05C0-MR-9986 - People vs. Jeremy Roberts for the rape/murder of April Remington. Enos Bent for the Prosecution and Porter Ramsey for the Defense. Is everyone where they should be?"

"Yes, Your Honor," comes back in stereo as both Porter and Bent (I must think of him as Bent not the other or I'll never make it) respond.

"And is that Dr. Grissom with you, Mr. Ramsey?"

"Yes, Your Honor," he answers.

"Your side seat is empty, Mr. Bent," she states, a hard look heading his way over her glasses. "Where is your client?"

"There was an incident at the jail which precludes his ability to attend," he quickly informs. I wonder if someone else punched him in the face.

She eyes him then glances our way. "Mr. Porter, I have an incredibly long list of witnesses from you yet only see four others present?"

"Two of the four are my witnesses, Your Honor. The others on the list will be available throughout the day or when needed due to their schedules. You should have all their statements."

She holds up the inch high stack of paper she'd walked in with. "I do and they make for fascinating reading." She rummages a bit more. "It would seem all have expressed a desire to work with Dr. Grissom again. In fact, they would love it if he worked here permanently no matter the outcome of today."

"That is correct, Your Honor."

That is . . . Hmm. Wow.

Payson turns a look on me. "You've a lot of admirers, Dr. Grissom, and I understand why since your reputation precedes you."

There's an ever so small grin touching her lips then it vanishes into a stiff authoritative look that she flashes onto Bent. I shall not take that as a good sign, that possible grin, only because I may be seeing things. I am sleep deprived.

"Which leads me to the question of intent, Mr. Bent," she continues.

He rises slowly, pulls down on his vest and gives her a creepy smile. "My intent is to show that the evidence discovered at the victim's house was fabricated and/or taken out of context due to events that took place months before in Las Vegas; events that caused Dr. Grissom," he says dramatically pointing at me, "to spiral out of control and into a depressive state that led to him nearly committing suicide."

Oh, how his voice dips low on that last word as if I went on a killing spree in a nursery.

"Do you have evidence of this attempt, Mr. Bent?" Payson asks, her eyebrows high up on her forehead.

"I do."

That was said with a touch too much vigor.

Payson eyes him and I wait for her to direct a question to me but she doesn't. I sigh. I know he's got the tape of what went on in the store. I know he's going to play it. He probably thinks I'll try to deny it.

He doesn't know me very well.

"So what you're saying is that your client, Jeremy Roberts_**,**_ arrested on two counts of rape and murder - one here and one in Las Vegas, along with one count of attempted rape here and . . ." Her voice fades off as she shakes her head. "And it appears four more pending counts of rape and three of murder, is questioning the evidence found _only_ in regard to the one count of rape and one count of murder of April Remington? Is that correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor," he gravely says, the grave part attached to the 'yes'. It's like watching a theater workshop for first year students attempting to put every emotion into every word.

Payson stares at Bent, a puzzled look on her face. "So you're not planning on questioning the evidence on the other count of attempted rape by an Amber Tice?"

"At this time it is only the Remington case."

She scratches her head then shakes it. "Please be seated, Mr. Bent," Payson finally says looking toward Porter. "Your client, Dr. Gilbert Grissom, is currently a consultant for CSI Los Angeles correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Porter answers as he stands.

"He's on medical leave from his duties as nightshift supervisor for CSI Las Vegas. Is that also true?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"And why is he on leave?"

"His leave is in relation to an incident that occurred while he was off-duty several months ago."

She looks back at Bent. "And this is the event to which you are referring?"

"It is, Your Honor."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You are aware that Dr. Grissom is a world renowned entomologist with no fewer than 70 published works; that he's considered a leading authority on crime scene processes and procedures and is classified as an expert witness in forensic criminology, testifying in a number of cases throughout the United States."

"I am, Your Honor," Bent responds blithely.

"This is a highly accomplished man who is considered one of the best in his field and you insist upon questioning his competency?"

"I do, Your Honor."

Sighing, she drops the papers and pulls the glasses from her nose. "If, at any time, I believe you're grandstanding, I will dismiss this case and hold you in contempt. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Bent?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"May it please the court," Porter quickly adds, "to ask Your Honor to make her own specific determination in regard to the witness before this proceeding continues so that Counsel won't need to call his _current_ mental state into question at a later date?"

"Good idea," she begins and Porter motions me to my feet. "Dr. Grissom, do you understand that it is your duty to tell the truth as you know it regardless of the question posed and that it must be clear and concise and non-judgmental?"

"I do, Your Honor."

"To your knowledge have you ever lied on the stand?"

"No, ma'am."

She eyes me for a long moment then turns back to her papers. "Let it be known that my determination of the witness is he's aware of his responsibilities. Proceed."

Porter smiles over at Bent who merely looks down to his notes as we sit. I'd say one for our side but I refuse to keep count.

"Your Honor," Bent begins, "my presence here is not to question what Dr. Grissom has accomplished as an expert witness nor to deny his standing as one of the few entomologists in the world. No, I'm here to question his ability to _be_ a witness in this specific case since it was he who found the evidence tying the unfortunate murder of April Remington to my client. It is that which I wish to contest."

"Clarification for the record," Payson says rubbing her forehead.

"My client has plead not guilty to the charges brought against him in regard to April Remington. I'm looking to expunge all evidence obtained by Dr. Grissom since it was obviously discovered under false pretenses."

Payson looks even more flummoxed now than she did earlier.

"False pretenses?"

Bent moves to stand in front of his table, fingers hooked into his vest pockets. "The aforementioned medical leave Dr. Grissom is currently on was put into place after an incident at the Tidy Widy Grocery & Gas Station in Las Vegas, Nevada three months prior. It is here he asked a man to kill him."

Silence is golden until someone says something like that.

"And the proof of this is?" Payson asks.

"I submit a DVD of a video posted on YouTube in regard to the events in question as Exhibit A."

I follow his every move, noting the slight smirk, as he hands the disc to the clerk who marks it in then hands it back.

"May the record reflect I'm showing Defense Counsel Exhibit A."

"So noted," she says.

Bent's smirk remains as he leans over our table drawing a pithy smile from Porter before heading back to the clerk.

"In order to question my witnesses, we will need to play this DVD."

"Hurry up then," Payson states.

He hands it off to the clerk and all eyes focus on the monitor to the side of the jury box, the first static-filled pictures making me cringe as I fall back into that terrible night and the feelings that, quite literally, brought me to my knees.

**Brass**

I wish I had that ESP thing. You know where I can send out good vibes to Gil to remind him he's not that guy on the tape anymore, that he's come so far.

Or a stick. I could slip it to him and he could beat the shit out of the Penis 'cause I don't think the Judge would mind. She might even take a few swings.

But I'm a, what did Simon call me . . . a Muggle. No magic in this old body. I can flex my hands, grit my teeth, think of ways to get rid of the body, but I can't wish him away anymore than I can sit at that table in Gil's place. Oh, I can support him - he always has that - but I can't make all of _this_ go away. And hearing his voice on that tape just pushes me right back there, standing and waiting and thinking I was going to lose a good friend.

That will always be in my head. No matter what.

**Conway**

Broken. Worn out. That's the Gil I saw at his mother's house and see again on the vid.

He's not that man now.

No, what I see now is someone who's been saved. Whether by himself, friends or good drugs, it doesn't matter just that he's more himself, more . . . I don't know. I just know that this Gil Grissom, the one sitting in front of me, is the one I recognize. The man on the tape is a stranger.

How does he watch this? If it was me I'd be under the table with fingers in my ears yelling LA-LA-LA until they wrapped a straightjacket around me. I wouldn't ever want to see that. Even Brass can't stand it. That man's going to need dental work when this is through.

**Clara**

This makes me so mad!

Tearing down a good man just so a murderer doesn't have to do one more year on his 50 year sentence is ridiculously absurd. If he thinks this is going to sway me he's very much mistaken.

The man I know cares. He cares for my family, my son, the well-being of all of us, for justice being done. He pushed past something deeply personal and did that for us, for April. But Mr. Bent doesn't understand that. I mean, just look at him. He's obviously never experienced anything deeply personal in his life and wouldn't know what to do about it if he did!

Oh! I'd like to get in his face and, and do something! I've never hit anyone before but I'd like to just this once!

I feel a hand on my fist and look up at Mitch who mouths 'me first'. I grin and lean against him. Maybe I'll let my husband take the first punch then I'll kick him in the . . .

**Grissom**

"Hold please," Bent says.

The video freezes and there I am with my hands held up. I remember it was then I accidentally implied I worked with the police after asking him to kill me and that this was the point when doubt raised its ugly head about my course of action.

"I call Captain James Brass to the stand," he says next.

"Objection," Porter calls out. "There's more to the tape."

"Is that true, Mr. Bent?"

"The events which we've just seen pertain to Captain Brass."

She narrows her eyes. In my experience that's never a good thing coming from a Judge.

"Is-there-more-to-the-tape?" Her words are clipped, the tone stern.

I raise an eyebrow. Did I just see him shrink a little?

"Ah, yes, Your Honor."

She glares. That's even better than Catherine's glare.

"Overruled," she finally says and Bent lets go of a breath and stands a little straighter.

"I call Captain James Brass to the stand," he repeats.

Glancing up at Jim as he walks past I'm projecting DON'T SAY PENIS! but he's ignoring me. I can tell by his 'I'm a cop don't get in my face' walk I've seen so many times. Maybe I should try that when it's my turn. Nah. I couldn't pull it off. Don't have broad enough shoulders. I'd look like Nathan Lane imitating John Wayne in "The Birdcage".

I rub my neck. I've got to pay attention. I can't go wandering off on a tangent when I'm sitting up there being beaten to a pulp by the Penis.

Ack!

Reaching for the bottled water on the table, I try to remember this is my career (possibly the end of my career) playing out in front of me. And, while I understand I'm _more_ than my career and have a ton of people who want something from me (magazines, lectures, Conway), it's still something I don't necessarily want to lose. At least, not this way. I want it to be my decision to leave not someone like Bent or Jeremy Roberts.

Taking a swig of water, I listen to the bailiff swear Jim in and, once again, send him a mental image to behave. I really, really don't want to be alone tonight and if he goes to jail . . .

Shaking my head, I glance down to see Simon's note on the table and quickly scoop it up, flattening it against my palm, Dumbledore's words wafting through me again - _'We must try not to sink beneath our anguish but battle on'._

Battle on. I can do that.

**Brass**

"You're Captain James Brass of the Las Vegas police department?" Enos asks as I fold hands in my lap.

"Yes." Short answers. Deal with it.

"And you've known Dr. Grissom for how long?"

"Over 13 years."

"Would you consider him a friend?"

"Yes." No, I hate his guts, you dick.

"As his friend, did you notice that he was entering a depressive state prior to the incident in the store?"

"Yes." Yes, I did and still have issues with it.

"And did you help him?"

"Objection," Porter calls out. "How is this relevant to impeaching Dr. Grissom as a witness?"

"Relevance is in the examination of people around Dr. Grissom that were available and/or offered to help but were ignored."

"Overruled. Captain Brass, answer the question," Payson orders me.

"I helped where I could."

"Which is a very vague answer," Enos states. I just stare at him. "Do you believe that you helped enough?"

"No." Obviously not or you wouldn't have a tape to show.

"Why do you think that?"

I look at Gil. "Because of what happened in the store."

"You mean when he asked the man to kill him?"

"Yes," I say reluctantly. Yes, yes, YES!

"Thank you. Your witness," Enos finishes oozing back to his table. My eyes head toward Porter who slowly approaches.

"You say you offered help to Dr. Grissom and he refused," he says to me.

"Yes."

"Did that surprise you . . . when he refused?" he quickly clarifies.

I give a slight shake of the head. "No, not really."

"Why not?"

A smile tugs at me. "Dr. Grissom is an introvert and rarely asks for anything."

"And yet you offered?"

"Of course. He's my friend. What bothers him bothers me." Always has, always will.

"And why are you here now?"

"I came as support and a friend. I was not expecting to be a witness for the Prosecution."

"Thank you."

"So you're here out of the goodness of your heart?" Enos pops in with a smarmy unbelieving look before Porter sits down.

"Yes." You piece of shit.

"Why didn't you force the issue earlier?" he tosses out.

I frown. "I'm sorry?"

"You say you were coming with Dr. Grissom to Los Angeles as a friend. Did he know you were coming with him?"

"No."

"Oh? Why not? I thought you were his friend." Oh, I can feel my foot crushing bones in his throat.

"Objection," Porter states and I raise a hand.

"I'll answer that. I realized I was too accommodating when I first recognized that he was in trouble and didn't take the extra steps a friend should. This time I was determined to make up for that."

"Because you knew that if Dr. Grissom was aware you were coming he would've sent you . . ."

"Objection," Porter calls out. "What Captain Brass knew or didn't know is hearsay. He's here along with Dr. Grissom and, under my purview, they are on friendly speaking terms thus exorcising Counsel's line of questions."

"I'm sure that Defense Counsel wouldn't utter a word if they were at each other's throats," Enos spits out, "since it's his job to provide us with a utopian view of the mental state of Dr. Grissom."

"Multiple people have witnessed this, not just myself."

"Stop!" comes Payson's voice just as Enos opens his trap to spew out who knows what. "Objection sustained."

Enos gives Porter the 'dirty eyeball' as Nick is fond of saying. "Nothing else, Your Honor."

"The witness is excused."

Moving slowly out of the box, I glare once more at Enos then grin a little at Gil as I slip past the bar and sit down. I hate being reminded of what I didn't do. It's not like it's something I'll soon forget and some shithead with greasy hair isn't going to make me feel like a waste.

I'm trying to put it right.

I _am_ putting it right.

**Grissom**

I'm not sure what that proved except I'm stubborn . . . or maybe a little stupid.

I prefer stubborn.

That's a trait of mine, learned at an early age, although mom would probably say I was born with it. Happened when I was nine - suddenly responsible for mom, hating the fact I was too small to do much and trying like mad to make things work. I did okay, taking on odd jobs around the neighborhood. Became 'king of the lawn' two streets over and 'catman' on another. But my favorite was 'antman'. Solved Mrs. Ample and Mrs. Truax's ant problem in a couple of days trying many different things until, finally, one of them worked.

They called me stubborn, too.

"I call Mitch Remington to the stand," flows into my thoughts and I frown.

I thought he would've called Clara next.

**Mitch**

It's a lonely walk from the seats to that empty chair by the Judge and a bit off-putting to be sworn in, promising not to lie. If only that particular human fault could be squashed by placing your hand on a Bible the world would be a better place. Well, I don't have to swear to tell the truth because that's what I'm going to do.

The man on that tape isn't the same man I've come to know yet I understand how he got there. After we found April, I couldn't sleep, couldn't move, couldn't think of anything except who would possibly do such a thing, take a stranger's life for no reason. No reason at all. I had Clara and Simon so my thoughts didn't carry me the same distance as Gil but that doesn't mean I don't understand it.

Not at all.

"Please state your name," Mr. Bent tells me.

"Mitch Remington."

"You are the father of April Remington whose death my client is accused of?"

"Yes, I am."

"And how did it feel to find out that Dr. Grissom wasn't the man you thought he was?"

My eyebrows rise at the dramatic phrasing but, before I can answer, Mr. Ramsey calls out.

"Objection. The witness hasn't informed the court what he thought of Dr. Grissom prior to that particular question."

"Sustained. Rephrase," Payson orders.

I think I hear Mr. Bent grumbling but that could be wishful thinking.

"I strike the question. When did you find out about the incident in the store involving Dr. Grissom?" he asks instead.

"On Monday."

"Monday?" Mr. Bent's eyes rise to the ceiling and I do hear a slight 'tsk-tsk' this time. "Well, that must've been a shock," he finishes, moving around his table to stroll toward me.

"Only because that isn't the Dr. Grissom I've come to know."

A dismayed look overtakes his face. "So you had _no_ concerns that the man investigating your daughter's death had, only a few months prior, asked a man to kill him?" His voice pitches real low on the 'kill him' part and I want to laugh. I refrain.

I stare at him instead. "No."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Remington," he says, feigning alarm. "This case may be thrown out. The murderer of your daughter would still be on the streets. Justice will fail because of what _he_ did," he declares pointing a finger at Gil. Oh, if I had Hairy here he could bite off that finger. "And you say you _don't_ hold anything against him? If this was my daughter . . ."

"But it wasn't your daughter, Mr. Bent," I interrupt before Mr. Ramsey or the Judge can say anything. I'm starting to get really angry.

"Even so, how can you sit there and tell me it _doesn't__matter_?" His arms are open wide, surprise mixing in a with a frown.

"Have you ever lost anyone, Mr. Bent?" I ask holding his gaze, trying not to let him know I'm pissed. "And by losing I don't mean by divorce or moving out of town. I mean raped and murdered and left in your house to find?"

"This is not . . ."

"Well, I have," I interrupt, cutting him off before he can say anything else. "And my world changed in an instant. I became a different man, someone I didn't know and that was all because _my_ daughter was murdered by _your_ client."

"Mr. Remington," he begins again. "that has not been proven . . ."

"So, to answer your question _again_," I forcefully add, "_no_, I was not concerned by what occurred with Dr. Grissom because I understood it. Understood how easy it is to lose yourself in grief and the what if's and why me. We were blessed when _that_ man," I say pointing to Gil, "came into our lives and gave us the answers we needed. He is a good man who doesn't deserve all this rigmarole. Perhaps it is _you_, Mr. Bent, who should've found a better client."

Glaring at him has become easier and I use it again, daring him, urging him to say something else, silently pleased when his mouth opens and closes like a fish making him look more like the fool he is.

"Your witness," he finally spits out to Mr. Ramsey before stomping back to his chair.

"No questions," comes his answer and the Judge dismisses me.

Nodding my head at Gil, I take Clara's offered hand and sit, smiling at her silent 'wow'. I am incredibly pleased with myself.

_That_ was for April and Gil.

**Clara**

I'm so proud of my man.

He's not known for his temper and has a tendency to shy away from hot button topics. He says they make him nervous. But when it comes to family, he's like a stone wall, protecting us as best he can. But after April was killed, he fell apart. We all fell apart. And then Gil came and gave us hope. Gil Grissom gave my man time to rebuild that wall and now I've just seen the result.

"I call Clara Remington to the stand," comes at me.

Well, I knew this was coming and I'm ready.

Narrowing eyes, I purse my mouth, remembering how I dealt with little Billy Reedup's mother who insisted the boy hadn't destroyed my garden. Calmly, I showed her the photo, told her if I found him on my property again there would be more than flowers in his mouth, smiled nicely and found new petunias on my porch the next day. I can be an immovable object when I so choose.

I believe that time is now.

Stiff legging it up to the bailiff, I'm sworn in and do my best to let Mr. Bent know exactly what's coming his way by my defiant stare. His brow knits for a moment then disappears. I'm guessing he thought I'd be a pushover.

Think again.

"Please state your name," he says, his tone heading toward bored.

"Clara Remington."

"You're the mother of April Remington?"

"I am."

"You heard how your husband answered my question regarding Dr. Grissom investigating your daughter's death even though he'd asked someone to kill him," he begins, leaning in close. All that does for me is make me notice his hair is really stringy under all that oily cream. "Do you share the same opinion?"

I tear my eyes from his 'hair' and center them on his slightly crossed left eye. "Why wouldn't I?" I ask. Apparently, he was expecting something else because if he knits his brow anymore it might just stay that way.

"Just because Mr. Remington is your husband doesn't mean you must share the same ideas or thoughts when it comes to what occurred to your daughter," he informs me with a very slight grin.

"What _occurred_ to my daughter was that she was raped and murdered."

"Yes, I'm aware . . ."

"And my opinion is the same as my husband's," I interrupt, "in that I have no problem with Dr. Grissom working our daughter's case."

Stepping back, he cocks his head. "Is it because of your son, Simon?" he says as if he knows everything.

"Is what because of my son, Simon?" I flip back and take great glee in the fact he looks, well, bent.

"Your son stopped speaking after your daughter's death," he brusquely states.

"I am aware of that, Mr. Bent," I can't help but add watching his jaw clench.

"When Dr. Grissom arrived he began speaking again."

I glance over at Gil, softening my gaze. "Yes, he did."

"So, is that why you don't think it odd that he asked a man to kill him?" There's that deep voice again on the words 'kill him'. This man is strange.

All softness leaves my face as I turn to him. "Since I didn't know at the time, it was not a concern."

"But now that you do know, don't you find yourself wondering if it could happen again?"

"What could happen again?" I believe he's fuming now.

"Mrs. Remington," he says in a voice pitched a bit higher than before, his knuckles turning white as they clutch tightly to the witness box, "Dr. Grissom is an unstable man who could turn in an instant and cause you or your family harm."

"Objection. Counsel is badgering the witness," Mr. Ramsey pipes up.

Mr. Bent ignores him and gives it another go. "And you say that doesn't concern you?"

"Objection!" Porter calls out, loudly.

"Mr. Bent," the Judge begins shutting up that awful man, thank God. "I believe I heard the witness answer your question. Move forward."

Taking a deep breath, he pries his hand from the box and steps back. "What would you think of Dr. Grissom if the case against my client was dismissed leaving the murderer of your daughter at large?"

"I would feel the same as I do now," I say with a slight shrug. I think I . . . Yes, those are his teeth grinding.

"So," he begins, frustration evident, "if my client isn't charged for the _rape and murder_ of _your_ daughter because of Dr. Grissom's actions, _you_ would still be able to sleep at night?"

I really don't like how he worded that question. "Would you?"

"Your Honor," he says, face flushing with anger. "The witness is being evasive."

"Mrs. Remington, answer the question," she says to me and I feel a bit chastened. Just a bit.

"I _would_ be able to sleep at night," I finally say looking straight at Mr. Bent, "because I know that other evidence has been found of all the _other_ crimes your client has been charged with and will most assuredly be convicted on."

"Those cases are not in question here," he blurts out.

"That's true but your question was how will I sleep. Very well since the _murderer_ of my _child_ will rot in jail whether or not you or the state or this court convict him of such in the case of _my_ daughter."

I'm sporting an incensed look, daring him to say something else inane, but all he does is reek of sweat and cheap after shave and, inside, I grin.

"Your witness," he barely gets out between clenched teeth and I look toward Mr. Ramsey.

"No questions, Your Honor."

"The witness is dismissed," Judge Payson says.

Slowly I leave, trying not to hurry my steps back to Mitch. I'll not lose what I've gained even though it would do my heart good to cold-cock him and leave him sputtering on the floor. As I pass, Gil gives me a tiny wink and Captain Brass sends me a thumbs up just as I grab Mitch's raised hand and slide in next to him.

"You did good, honey," he whispers.

It's only then I let loose with a shaky breath, nerves piling up on me. I need to push them away to be strong for Gil. I don't think we've done him a disservice. In fact, I know we haven't.

I did what I could, Simon. I hope it's enough.

* * *

_Well, there it is. Boring or not that is the question. (I hope not.) _

_Next up is Grissom's time on the stand. Now the big question mark is who will end up calling Enos 'the Penis' (because you know someone will) and, when Judge Payson slams down her gavel at the end of things will our man be cleared or . . ? _

_Hope you enjoyed this and please review. I live and breathe on those. Until next time. :-D_


	40. Chapter 40

_Whew! It's good to be back! I've attempted to post this chapter for 2 weeks. Oh, there wasn't any problems with the site but with my time. You see I finally got a new job. Yippee! I can now breathe a bit easier after 4 months out of work. True, my new job pays considerably less than my last job but everyone is so nice and what they have me doing isn't very stressful (yet) and, if they fire me, I now know I can get another job. The upside is I get to wear a hard hat, vest, jeans and tennies every day. The downside is they don't train anyone - you kind of have to fend for yourself or find out who knows what and attach yourself to them. (The hard hat/vest is for walking across the yard - I work for a piledriving company.)_

_So, now that I've settled in I can now deliver to you the next part of my opus - the conclusion of Grissom's hearing. Here's where we find out who calls Enos 'The Penis' and does the G-man win or not. This entire part is from Grissom's POV. Hmm. Of course I now have to figure out what's next. Don't worry. I have the next steps written down and hope to be back on a regular posting schedule. I shant promise because we know what happens between writing and real life but I shall do my very best to try and be more scheduled._

_As always, thanks to following for sticking with me through this process: TessTrueHeart, leah-audreysgramma, CSIflea, Moonstarer, SarahmUK, stlouigal, Sarafly, was spratlurid quimby, Guest, Hithui, SevernSound, and NANCY1._

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 40 - The hearing - Part 2**

**Grissom**

I try not to look at Bent because I can feel irritation radiating off him and I'm about to come in full contact with it since I'm next. But, after what both Mitch and Clara said, I'm confident anything I say will probably piss him off even further. I just have to make it through the rest of that tape and remember that his teeth may be perfect but I've got better hair. (Well, that's what Sara told me that one time when we were . . .)

"I call Dr. Gilbert Grissom to the stand," Bent says and I startle.

Stop daydreaming!

"Go get 'em, Gil," I hear Conway whisper as I stand.

Grabbing onto that, I button my jacket, smoothing it down as I make my way toward the bailiff and raise my right hand.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"Take your place on the stand."

I settle in, suck in a deep cleansing breath and center in on Bent, keeping my hand wrapped tightly about Simon's note.

"Please state your name for the record," Bent asks me.

"Gilbert Grissom."

"Dr. Grissom," he begins slowly working his way toward me. "At the time the evidence was found indicting my client of April Remington's murder you were a consultant for CSI Los Angeles. How did you come to be a consultant?"

"Director Germen asked me to help out on a case."

"And you jumped at the chance to earn extra money?" he tosses out.

"Objection."

"Rephrase," Payson orders.

Bent grimaces and tries again. "How did Director Germen contact you?"

"I was visiting my mother and he came by the house."

"You were on vacation?" You know I wasn't on vacation.

"Objection. Counsel knows why my client was in Los Angeles."

"Sustained."

Rolling his eyes, he fiddles with his watch fob. "Was Director Germen aware of why you were in Los Angeles?"

"He stated he was." And he did. Came right out and hit me in the face with it.

"Did you readily agree to help him with his case?"

"No."

"Oh? Why not?" he asks with a theatrical uplifting of his brow.

Why not? Because I was a mess. "I wasn't in any sort of shape to work a case."

"Then you admit you weren't running on all cylinders."

"Objection."

"Sustained. Mr. Bent . . ."

"I'll rephrase," he says to Payson. "But you ended up taking the case despite your state of mind?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe that was wise?"

I wait to see if Porter will object but he doesn't so I carry on. "In the beginning, no, but as I began to work through the case and with Director Germen's team, I started to find my footing again."

"And was the evidence found against my client discovered before or after you found your footing?" he asks with a disturbing gleam in his eyes.

I narrow my own. "After."

"So we're simply to believe you when you say it was after? Do you have any witnesses to this foot finding?"

"Objection," Porter finally calls out. "The evidence in question was found two weeks _after_ Dr. Grissom was assigned the case. During those two weeks he worked diligently with Director Germen's staff, all of which are included in the signed statements in front of you."

"Are we to believe _all_ those statements, Your Honor?" Bent dramatically asks. "You yourself stated that Dr. Grissom has a reputation that precedes him. Hero worship does not a statement make."

I glance at Payson and wait. It doesn't take long.

"What school did you get your law degree from, Mr. Bent?" she asks with just a hint of sarcasm. "Perry Mason University?"

"Ah, Vanderbilt, actually." He stammers out that answer. Inwardly, I grin.

"Then you should know better than to say such things to a Judge. This isn't TV, it's a court of law. Act accordingly."

"Yes, Your Honor," comes out in a timid voice, like he's just had his hand slapped for stealing a cookie.

I decide not to look at Jim because I know he's smirking like mad. Hell, I'm even having a hard time keeping that particular look off my face.

Bent clears his throat and continues. "Then let us turn our attention to the part of the tape already viewed. Dr. Grissom, is that you on screen?"

I don't look where he's pointing. "Yes."

"It appears that you had time to leave the store when the assailant was dispatching the victim yet chose to stay. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Would you tell the court why you stayed?"

"I . . . At the time I didn't know why I stayed."

"Do you now?" he asks in a snotty tone.

Because I was a mess. Because I thought my life was over. Because I was being a drama queen!

"I'd been exhibiting signs of depression for some time and wasn't functioning very well. I took _that_ to be the reason."

"In other words your girlfriend walked out on you," Bent adds.

"Objection, Your Honor," Porter states. "Relevance."

Bent pulls his cockeyed gaze from me and drops it on Payson. "Your Honor, this series of questions, and the video, will be foundational in showing Dr. Grissom was suffering from a mental imbalance prior to entering the store. I also intend to show that he did not attend the mandatory psychological evaluation sessions in order to be reinstated with CSI Las Vegas but was allowed to work for CSI Los Angeles, a time, I add, where evidence against my client was found."

"Your Honor, according to the current laws of Los Angeles County," Porter pipes up, "a consultant, which is how Dr. Grissom is noted on his contract, is not required to attend psychological counseling in order to be employed by said county. I have written statements from Director Germen, who is present, that he was aware of the occurrence in Las Vegas and, after meeting with Dr. Grissom, deemed it negligible in regard to being able to carry out his duties as required."

Payson glances from one to the other. "Director Germen," she calls out and Conway jumps to his feet.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Even though the state doesn't require it, wouldn't it have been prudent to have Dr. Grissom attend counseling especially considering what occurred?"

"If I didn't know Dr. Grissom prior to my asking him to consult for us then, yes, I would've made it mandatory for him to attend counseling. However, I've known him for years and am aware of what he can do under the most trying circumstances. We met, we spoke frankly about what occurred and I deemed counseling unnecessary to do the job."

"And, at any time, did you see that your decision was in error?"

"No, ma'am. He performed well with my team and, as you've already noted, all have expressed a desire to be called as character witnesses if necessary."

"Your Honor, do not be swayed by . . ."

"Do _not_ finish that sentence, Mr. Bent," she says making him squirm. "That'll be all, Director Germen. This does appear relevant so objection overruled. Continue."

Damn, Bent's smiling again. That can't be good.

"Dr. Grissom, were you in a depressive state because your girlfriend left you?"

"Yes." Yes, yes, YES! How many times do I have to think about that?

"And you did not seek assistance for your depression?"

"No." Christ! I made a mistake. People make mistakes.

"Any reason why?"

I wince. "I was hoping it would resolve itself." Foolish, foolish me.

"But it didn't?"

"No."

"And you ended up in the store asking a man to kill you?"

"Objection," Porter calls out. "Counsel is implying that because my client was depressed he searched out someone to kill him. As you can plainly see on the tape, my client was entering the store and simply didn't leave."

"Your Honor . . ." Bent tries.

"Restate the question," Payson orders.

If he gnashes his teeth anymore their perfection will disappear.

"Dr. Grissom, would you say that _because_ of your depressive state you chose not to flee an emergent situation that you accidentally walked into?"

I trade glances with Porter who nods. "Yes."

"Did it not occur to you that you could've been killed?"

I sigh. "Yes, it did." I know. It was incredibly stupid.

"And yet you stayed?"

"Yes." I wasn't thinking of anyone or anything except how I felt.

"Is this something you've thought of often? Having someone kill you?"

"No," I say shaking my head. "I hadn't thought of it _then_ until the opportunity arose."

"Would you do it again?"

"No." It's not even something I want to think about again let alone try.

"And why not? It seemed so easy the first time?"

Before Porter can yell out, I decide to answer Bent's snide remark. "Because I realized that the man I'd asked to end my suffering was in a far darker place than I was. My . . . girlfriend was still alive. His wife was not. It was then it occurred to me that killing myself, or having him do it, was not the way I wanted to end things. I still had a chance. All his chances were gone."

Bent looks at me as if I've taken the wind from his sails.

"Mr. Bent?" Payson calls drawing his attention.

"Ah, your witness," he stammers toward Porter then returns to his seat muttering to himself.

"Before I cross, Your Honor, I would like to take this time to view the rest of the tape."

"Of course," she says with a nod to the clerk.

And it starts again. My hands are out in front of me as the man grabs his gun with both of his then asks me if I'll be leaving anyone behind. There wasn't and that admission cut through me. Mom wasn't even a concern which I chide myself over. What a horrible thing to wake up to - a son who committed suicide by proxy. Then I hear the man speak of his 'sunshine' and how it was gone and that Sara had been that for me and she took it away and I'd been left with nothing.

My eye twitches.

I'd _been_ left with nothing.

_Been_.

_Past tense_.

Today, tomorrow, hell, a few days ago, I could've gotten it back. I _can_ get it back, now, because what I want is waiting for me. All I have to do is reach out and grab hold. It's . . . It's what I want, to grab hold. It's what I've always wanted.

A grin comes then falls as gunshots ring out from the video. Closing my eyes, I bow my head. At the time my world was ever shrinking and I saw no other recourse but to take advantage of a situation that presented itself. Sounds of the gurney's squeaky wheels follow and I roll my shoulders. I let everything fall apart because of everything I'd lost. I'd let the personal takeover and nearly got myself killed. But then I remembered you can't work this job, can't live your life, if emotions are flailing about. You must have hold of them and I found that hold, that conviction, when I stood in April's room trying to find something for a family, for a little boy, to hold onto, to get them through.

"Dr. Grissom? Dr. Grissom?" comes Porter's voice.

Startled, I look up. "Yes?" Drifting, stop drifting.

"Is this video a correct representation of what occurred that night?"

"I'm . . . Yes, it is."

"You seem uncertain?" Payson tosses out and I glance up at her.

"According to various psychologists questioned," Porter begins before I can say anything, "it is a common occurrence to be unclear on the order of events when dealing with a traumatic event."

"Had you not seen this video until today?" she asks me.

"No, ma'am."

"Why not?"

I try to stop myself from shrugging but my shoulders have their own ideas. "I . . . I didn't see the need to revisit my lapse in judgment," I answer with a grimace.

She gives me an understanding look then nods. "Is everything clear now?"

"Yes," I say. Everything is _very_ clear. Unfortunately. "That _is_ what occurred."

"And was it your intent to find someone to kill you when you went out that night?" she gently asks.

"No. I was taking advantage of an opportunity I'd not considered before."

Payson looks down and writes something. Shit. I've probably done it now. I admitted to considering suicide. Send in the straightjacket.

"As you can see in the video, Your Honor," Porter continues, "my client engages the man in conversation. If it was his true intent to have that man kill him he would never have told him he wasn't a policeman."

"But he reaches for the gun. You can plainly see that," Bent pops in. "What sane man would do that?"

"I realized a second too late what he was planning and hoped I could knock the gun away," I add.

"So you say now," he says with a sneer. "Who's to say you weren't reaching for it so he'd finish the job?"

"Sit down, Mr. Bent," Payson says pointing a finger at him. "It's Mr. Ramsey's turn."

Hesitantly, the man eases into his chair and glares at me. I ignore him.

"For clarification purposes, Dr. Grissom," Porter starts. "What occurred to create your depressive state before you stepped into the store?"

I take a deep breath. "My girlfriend left me." God, that sounds so high school. I try not to hide my face but I do scrunch down as if that'll make things more agreeable.

"Said girlfriend would be CSI Sara Sidle, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why she left?" he asks.

I sigh. "I took her off the Ally Corrs case.

"Ally Corrs being another possible victim of Jeremy Roberts?"

"Yes."

"And you removed her from the case why?"

"Because she didn't adhere to safety rules in regard to returning to a scene."

"Please explain."

"She returned without police back-up which is a violation of the rules set forth to protect investigators. As her supervisor, it was my responsibility to remove her from the case."

"Aside from the investigator's safety, are there any other concerns to returning to a scene alone?"

"The court may consider any evidence found compromised if there isn't an on-site policeman or detective or fellow CSI."

"Did she find any evidence?"

"She did."

"And how was it handled?"

"The co-nightshift supervisor, Catherine Willows, took the evidence, tagged it then reported how it was gathered before placing it in the case file."

"You say you removed her from the case. What was her reaction?"

Her reaction? Like a mallet to the head . . . or a knife to the heart.

"She was upset." God, that still hurts to even think on it.

"After she left when did you see her again?"

It's only then I glance over to the TV. "That night, in the store."

"You were then put on leave and headed to Los Angeles?"

"Yes."

"You stated that by the time you gathered the evidence at the Remington's' house, you'd 'found your footing' by working with CSI Los Angeles. Did you also find making the acquaintance of Simon Remington, April's 7 year old brother, helpful as well?"

I can't help but smile. "Very much so. He is a bright boy, interested in everything."

Porter nods then leans back against his table and crosses his arms. "So, would you say that despite the fact you were in a depressive state and you hadn't gone out of your way to seek professional help, you found said help in the form of your co-workers, your mother and Simon Remington while here in Los Angeles?"

I nod. "That would be a true statement."

"And, once you returned to Las Vegas, you started meeting with Dr. Philip Kane to meet the restrictions put in place for your return to your nightshift supervisor role, correct?"

"Yes."

"As you can see by this statement from Dr. Kane, Your Honor," Porter states handing off Philip's document to the clerk then over to Payson, "Dr. Grissom is now fulfilling his requirements for reinstatement."

Sliding on her glasses, she scans through the letter and nods. "Very good, Mr. Ramsey."

"Your witness," Porter says to Bent and my eyes shift over to him, watching as he stands and saunters over.

"Do you love your job, Dr. Grissom?" he asks and my brows rise at this new slant.

"Yes, I do."

"Love it enough to force the evidence to fit a crime?"

"No. Evidence speaks for itself," I say before Porter can stop me.

"But evidence can speak both ways so, in order to appease the Remingtons and make sure that Simon stayed in your life, you decided to manipulate the evidence to suit your needs."

"Objection," Porter sounds off but I won't let that stand.

"I had no need to fake evidence, Mr. Bent. I found _possible_ evidence which, when tied to other evidence _found_ at your client's home, put him in April Remington's room. So, please tell me how you figure I would know what to fake?"

"The statements."

Okay. Now he's confused me. "What?"

"All those statements from your adoring fans," he says, fluttering his eyelashes like a love struck teenager. "Everyone of them insists you're the greatest thing since the invention of the iPad. Who's to say one of them didn't plant evidence to be found."

"Objection. Counsel is suggesting that the entire CSI Los Angeles office, including the Director and Sheriff, are in on a cover-up to add further charges to his client's already long list of charges."

"It's happened before," Bent says over his shoulder as he waltzes back to his table.

"Your Honor?" Porter questions.

"Mr. Bent . . ."

"Since Dr. Grissom was in a depressed state over personal matters his ability to process a scene without prejudice needs to be considered."

"And it shall be," she begins, "but for now I suggest you retract that statement before Director Germen sues you for liable."

Bent's eyes flick over to Conway who's glaring so hard I believe his eyeballs might actually explode, then clears his throat and looks away.

"I was merely _suggesting_ that people in the throes of hero worship have been known to alter their interpretation of factual matters. It was not my intention to state that any of that actually occurred," he quickly says. "Strike the statement."

Oh, that took great effort on his behalf to spit out those words. Tough.

"So, Dr. Grissom," he says, in my face once again. "Have _you_ ever broken the law?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Really?" he says before 'tsk'ing me. "Then I should remind you of the time you attacked my client." I was wondering if that was going to come up.

"Objection."

"Did that make you feel better since you were pining away like a child after a lost love," Bent continues with barely a pause.

"Objection," Porter states again.

"Sustained. Mr. Bent . . ."

"Dr. Grissom struck my client with a lethal weapon breaking his nose and part of his cheekbone," he hastily spits out.

"I see no documentation for such an accusation," Payson informs him as she searches through her paperwork. "What lethal weapon are you referring to?"

"A cast, Your Honor, on his hand."

She turns a look on me and sees both of my hands visible. "Is that correct, Dr. Grissom?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Her eyebrows disappear into her bangs. "Did you strike Mr. Bent's client?"

"Your Honor," Porter broke in before I can say anything else, "Counsel's client broke from custody and was attempting to exit the building. Dr. Grissom was in the same hallway and the only person standing between the exit and his client."

"_Did_ you strike him, Dr. Grissom?" she repeats, her voice a bit deeper than before.

"I did," I answer holding her gaze.

"Was there any other intent than to prevent his escape?"

"No. I turned at Director Germen's shout and he was on me. I merely reacted."

"Your Honor, he reacted with his cast which may be considered a leth . . ." Bent pushes in.

"Dr. Grissom is right handed," Porter quickly interjected. "It was an automatic response."

"Director Germen?" Payson calls out and, once again, Conway jumps to his feet. "Is that a true interpretation of what occurred?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I was with Mr. Roberts and two officers when he managed to break free. We all gave chase and, when I saw Dr. Grissom standing there, I yelled. He turned and reacted."

"And no one thought to file a report?" she asks and I see Conway wince a little before quickly covering it up.

"I was not aware that a report hadn't been filed," he finishes rather lamely.

"Police brutality, Your Honor," Bent blurts out pointing at Conway. "Brushed under the rug. If they do that with a suspect what do they do with evidence or _supposed_ evidence gathered at a scene?"

"You've not proven that the 'supposed' evidence is faulty, Mr. Bent," Payson reminds him. "And, as to Dr. Grissom's recent comments and reports I have here, evidence besides what is in contest was found in your client's home on his clothes." She holds up a sheet of paper. "Along with a necklace that her parents identified as belonging to their daughter, April Remington. Also in this report it states that Dr. Grissom was not on site when this was collected."

"It's very clear that Dr. Grissom is biased, prejudiced and hostile toward my client," Bent begins, pointing a finger at me. "He has a personal interest in having my client incarcerated due to his relationship with Simon Remington and with CSI Sidle. He was on medical leave because he asked a man to kill him. He physically assaulted my client. He's yet to be reinstated to his position in Las Vegas. That does _not_ sound like someone I'd want collecting evidence that might send a person to death row."

"Your Honor," Porter quickly cuts in as he slowly approaches, standing to my left while Bent fidgets to my right. "It is Dr. Grissom's duty, a duty he's performed admirably for over 20 years, to tell the truth. Such is the reason he's been awarded an expert witness title. If we were to listen to Counsel we would expect to see a man falling apart at the seams, unable to perform ordinary tasks let alone those that are analytical and rational in nature."

"My client was attacked by that man!" Bent practically yells as he points at me. "There's no way around that."

"Counsel is claiming that Dr. Grissom is some sort of wild man capable of doing harm to whoever gets in his way. In regard to damages done to his client, they fall within impeding his escape not laying in wait to make him pay."

"My client could've been killed," Bent throws out.

"Your client could've been shot by any of the policemen in that hall as well," Porter reminds him.

"Gentlemen . . ." Payson begins.

Porter points at Bent. "What I see here is the same thing Boston physician Dr. Storer noted in 1841 that 'It is the duty of a witness on the stand to state the truth. It is the business of legal counsel to destroy and suppress the truth, except so far as it suits their own purpose.'"

"Now see here . . ." Bent yells out.

"Your Honor, all of this is nothing more than an attempt to lessen his client's crimes for no other purpose than to shorten his life sentence. And, in so doing, has attempted to malign and destroy the credibility of a man who has been the voice of justice for many victims and their families for years by suggesting he faked evidence.

"I request that the charge of incompetency against Dr. Grissom be dismissed due to Counsel's inability to prove any attempt to engineer a deception in regard to his client."

"Your Honor, Dr. Grissom has already destroyed his own credibility by asking a man to kill him. I can't believe that this Court would willingly dismiss such an outrageous act when it comes to judging the law. The man is mentally imbalanced then miraculously finds evidence against my client. He should be shut away in an asylum not glorified for . . ."

"Stop!" Payson loudly orders as she bangs her gavel, catching Bent with his mouth open. "Just stop before you end up in contempt, or worse, jail." She shakes her head. "You are trying my patience, sir."

"I'm merely attempting to give my client every chance the law allows. Ignoring probable cause because of who's sitting in the witness box is an inexcusable use of the power of the Court. Why I'd even say it's . . ."

"I wouldn't," she informs him. "I really wouldn't."

She eyes him and I wait for Bent to put his foot further in his mouth. Surprisingly, he stays quiet.

"While I understand your idea behind a call for competency due to Dr. Grissom's diminished mental state at the time the original evidence was found," she begins, "there is no reason strong enough to strike said evidence from the record since it corresponds to evidence found on site at your client's home after the fact. Nor do I believe that the entire CSI Los Angeles staff would stage a giant cover up just to please him.

"Dr. Grissom did not court the consultant job, therefore, we cannot say he failed to inform the Director of his disposition. The onus falls on Director Germen had he failed in regard to the rules and regulations surrounding evidence gathering. He did not.

"Per the Remington's' statements and testimony, Dr. Grissom is held in high esteem due to his assistance with their son who, according to a statement by his doctor, has greatly improved _because_ of his involvement. They've both stated they will continue to allow their son to associate with him whatever today's outcome.

"And, finally, committing suicide is not against the law. Attempting the same thing is also not against the law. What occurred in the store is on tape. Dr. Grissom has admitted it. He was off-duty and observed by CSI Sidle, Captain Brass and many others. He was put on medical leave. I have affidavits from his psychologist, Director Germen, the Remingtons and Las Vegas Sheriff Elam. All of them attest to his integrity as an investigator and adherence to the laws in whichever state he is in."

"That only means he has friends in high places who look the other way!" Bent tries in a strident voice.

"ENOUGH!" Payson yells slamming down her gavel. I jump.

"Your Honor . . ."

"You're so fond of talking about evidence, Mr. Bent, here's mine," Payson states shooting her best glare at Bent. "The unfortunate incident that occurred at the Tidy Widy Grocery & Gas Station did in _no_ way affect the gathering of evidence against your client, therefore, I am dismissing the competency charge against Dr. Grissom and ask that you never waste my time again with something as injudicious as this. We are adjourned."

I think I missed something. I was so taken with her telling off Bent, I phased out.

Did she just adjourn everything?

"But, Your Honor . . ."

"We are ADJOURNED!" she rattles off then gathers her paperwork and stands. "Get out of my courtroom!"

Bent growls, he really does and I'm so struck by that I fail to notice the angry petulant look he's throwing my way until he's moving in close to my face.

"I know how your type works, Grissom," he begins as I back up in my seat. "Always hanging around the edges, always looking for ways to wiggle your way in, using a little kid to get into Mrs. Remington's pants. Can't get Sidle back so you go after a dead girl's mother? Despicable."

My mouth falls open and a wave of heat flushes through me. One side of me's yelling sit still, he's just trying to get you to punch him, while the other is screaming kick this sick sorry son-of-a-bitch into tomorrow! The audacity of this piece of . . .

"AHHHHHHHH!" fills the courtroom and a whoosh of air passes by. The next thing I see is Bent on the floor with Mitch on top of him fists flying.

Quickly I come to my feet, my own hands clenching into fists, wanting so to get into the frey when Porter grabs my arm and shakes his head. Both of us notice Jim grab Clara before she can join the fight as the bailiffs rush toward the two grappling on the floor.

"Mr. Bent!" yells Payson. "What the hell . . ."

I pull against Porter.

"Don't," he whispers in warning and I ease up. It's not fair that Mitch gets to beat on that bastard and I don't.

Finally, the bailiffs separate the two - Mitch with blood on his shirt and Bent, well, apparently he doesn't know how to defend himself. He's got a split lip, a cut over his right eye, his vest is torn and his fob is laying on the floor. And his pristine cream colored suit is speckled with his own spatter.

Good.

The bailiffs plunk him into his chair.

"Mr. Bent," Payson begins with a scowl, "I find you in contempt and serve you with a two day jail sentence along with a fine of $25,000.00."

"What?!" he shouts then points toward Mitch. "_He_ beat _me_ up! It was uncalled for!"

"Harassing a witness and impugning the character of another is far from uncalled for, Mr. Bent," she tells him before turning on Mitch. "While I understand you were protecting your wife's virtue, Mr. Remington, I will not tolerate that behavior in my court."

"I apologize, Your Honor," he answers.

"I'm fining you in the amount of $100.00."

"WHAT?!" Bent yells even louder and tries to stand but is pressed back down with a hard push.

"My courtroom, my decision," she informs him. "I warned you. I warned you repeatedly to not make me regret that I didn't dismiss this case from the get-go. I don't _ever_ want to see you trying a case before me again. Do I make myself clear?" she asks.

"But . . ."

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!"

Slowly, Bent hangs his head. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Good!"

Slamming her gavel, more for affect than anything else, she mumbles her way out of the courtroom and I'm pretty sure I heard her say 'God, he's such a prick' but, then, that could've just been me.

"Am I too late?" comes at us and we look as one toward the doors to the courtroom flung wide to admit L.A. Sheriff Tom Quinlan standing there with a smile slowly fading from his face.

"Tom," Conway hurriedly calls out rushing towards his boss.

"It can't be over yet. I've come to save the day. All of us have."

Looking behind him I see all of Conway's staff slowly beginning to file into the room and, for the first time since this started, I feel like laughing but that's pushed aside when I hear Bent say 'ouch' and turn narrowed eyes on him instead.

"What are you planning?" Porter whispers to me. "I won't let you get arrested when it's finally over."

"I won't," I say.

He hesitates and I can tell his brain is formulating how all of this can go wrong, but he lets me go.

Stepping out of the witness box, I cautiously make my way towards that mealy mouthed idiot who made me feel less than what I am and stop next to him, watching as the bailiffs cuff him. Slowly leaning over I brace myself with one arm on the table and the other on the back of his chair effectively trapping him in his seat. I wait until he looks up.

I don't smile. I don't blink.

"If you _ever_, and believe me I'll know, speak of Mrs. Remington like that again, _Enos_ the _Penis_," I say in a deep, angry, quiet voice, "you'll have far more to worry about than what might happen to you in lock up these next two days. Do I make myself clear?"

Fear. I see it in his eyes. Normally that wouldn't do it for me.

Today it does.

He quickly nods and I slowly straighten, stepping back as the bailiffs haul him to his feet and drag him toward the door on the other side of the room.

"Did you hear what he said?" he asks them. "You heard him. I know you did. He threatened me! Bodily harm was implied!"

The bailiffs say nothing as the three of them disappear through the closing door, shouting still heard through the thick wood.

I've never actually felt the need, the absolute, pure need to do that _EVER_ in my life. To say I enjoyed it would be the truth though I don't want to find myself in a situation where I have to do it again.

"Gil! You won!" Conway yells and slaps me on the shoulder breaking my eye line with the door.

"I told you everything would be fine," Clara adds giving me a hug which I return letting her go as Mitch steps up. I reach out a hand then stop, looking at the sorry state of his knuckles. He sheepishly grins.

"I'm sorry Bent said . . ." I begin but he cuts me off.

"I'll say this - he lives up to his nickname." Mitch's grin becomes a smile and I follow with my own.

"Yeah, he's a dick!" comes at us from everyone gathered then the laughs start and I just want to find a bed and go to sleep.

I must've had a look (or it could've been the yawn) because Jim grabs hold and drags me out into the hall, plopping me onto the nearest bench, bottled water appearing in my hand like magic. I take a deep gulp.

"Better?" Jim asks and I nod.

"Well, Gil," Sheriff Quinlan "you've successfully thwarted another obstacle and came out smelling like a rose. My offer still stands. Leave Vegas and come work for me. Best thing for you."

A chorus of 'please' and 'that would be great' encircle me and I shut my eyes.

"Come on everyone," comes Conway's voice. "The man was just thrashed by a weenie with a weird eye. He needs his space. Oh, Tom? Don't you have an appointment with the Mayor in ten?"

The Sheriff squints at Conway then looks at his watch. "Right. I'll talk to you later, Gil," he tosses out before rushing down the corridor.

I send Conway a grateful look and he smiles back. My attention then turns to everyone else. "Thank you all for coming. It means a lot to me." I smile at Peter who gives me a mock salute, making me chuckle.

"Yes, aren't the lot of you supposed to be working or something?" Conway adds then smirks at them as they slowly move away.

"God, I need some sleep," I mutter rubbing my forehead.

"Then off we go," Jim says hefting me to my feet. "Porter, do we need to do anything else?"

"There are some documents to sign but we can do that before you head back to Vegas."

I stretch out my hand. "Thank you for everything."

"My pleasure. I enjoyed ticking off The Penis," Porter beams then heads back into the courtroom.

I turn to see Conway's smile stretching ear to ear. "What?"

"I've never seen you so menacing before. It was exhilarating. You'd never make it as a politician."

"Maybe a strong arm for the mafia," Jim adds as Conway vigorously nods.

I shake my head. "I'm going to bed."

"'Oh, sleep it is a gentle thing, beloved from pole to pole'," Conway recites as I start to walk off. "'No day is so bad that it can't be fixed with a nap'," he states even louder. "SLEEP TIGHT AND DON'T LET THE BED BUGS BITE!" he shouts, his voice ringing off the walls as we finally make our way outside and into the afternoon sunlight.

"Is he always like that?" Jim asks as we start off down the street.

"Yep."

"Oh."

* * *

_'Oh, sleep' quote - Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

_'No day' quote - Carrie Snow_

* * *

_Yeah! Grissom's out of trouble. Now he's gotta deal with the epiphany he arrived at while on the stand - he wants Sara back. Now he just has to figure out can he actually not let what happened bog him down and move on or should he lay down some ground rules so it won't (or, at least, might not) happen again? _

_For those of you wanting to know, Sara makes an appearance in the next part along with Simon._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. :-D_


	41. Chapter 41

_Happy Thanksgiving one and all! I apologize once again for the delay in posting and will no longer make such posting promises since I can't seem to keep them. But, I will thank all of you before hand for hanging in._

_This is the last chapter of Act 3. The final act, Act 4, will entail the winding down to the final chapters of this piece. Of course, with me, final chapters could be anywhere from3 to 12 or more chapters. You know how I am.  
_

_I appreciate all of you and a great big bunch of thanks to the following: SarahmUK, TessTrueHeart, Moonstarer, CSIflea, My Kate, aninha.k, stlouiegal, Hithui, GSR'er, onthecorner, saraday, was spratlurid quimby, Sarafly, SevernSound and, of course, Nancy1._

_~ Onward_

* * *

**Part 41 - Saturday**

**Brass**

"Is this seat taken?" I ask of Gil who's managed to squirrel himself away behind the boat's captain. It takes a moment for him to drag his eyes from the sunset then smile up at me.

"Nope."

"Then I'm gonna park my butt down."

I sit and we both watch the sky change colors. Despite the smog it sure is pretty.

"Simon's having a blast," I say in hopes of getting him to talk. He's been pretty quiet since yesterday. More relaxed but quiet.

"I'm glad. The guys wanted him to have a good time." He takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. "And I'm glad I'm here, intact and still me."

"Here, here," I say and raise my can of Coke. He raises his and we both take a swig. There's a bit of silence as the sky turns a vivid orange. "So, what's next?"

"Well, we'll probably head out another eight or so miles and then get started."

"No," I say with a slight shake of my head. "I meant so what's next for you?"

I watch him wince a little then play with his Coke can. "I'm not sure."

"Going back to work?"

"Maybe."

He goes silent.

"You know that's okay, Gil," I tell him and he looks at me. "Really, it's okay not to be sure."

"But that's not me, Jim. Or that's not what I'm used to."

"True. _You_ are an orderly person but, these last few months . . ."

"Have been a bitch," he says with a slight laugh and I do the same. "I'm glad I finally saw that tape."

"What did you see?" I ask and a grin rises slowly.

"It's not what I saw, it's what I realized."

"And that was?"

His grin grows larger. "That everything I'd lost is sitting out there waiting to be reclaimed. All I have to do is walk over, hold out my hand and take it."

"And will you?"

He tilts his head a little then takes another swig of his Coke. "I'm thinking on it."

"I'm proud of you, Gil," I say around a smile as he shoots me a puzzled expression. "You held fast, didn't turn tail and run, not that I really expected you to."

"Oh," he says and looks away. "I wasn't sure, you know. I ran home after you snuck me out of the hospital."

"Running home is different than running away," I say. He just shrugs.

"I still ran."

"To someone who wouldn't judge you." I smile at him and can see a small one tug at his mouth. "Moms are great that way."

"Yes they are," he admits.

"No, I was sure because of Sara." He frowns and I chuckle. "That's one of the things I love about you, Gil. You never seem to realize when, by doing something most of us would hide from, you amaze us with your strength."

"I'm not . . ." His words trail off and he looks back to his Coke.

"Facing her after what happened took guts," I inform him. "Laying yourself bare in front of the one person that matters the most to you and trying not to notice the fear that must've come along with it . . . well, I admire that kind of grit."

"I . . . It was something I needed to do."

"And you did it, Gil. That's the point. Just like facing the hearing. You sat there, with your career, your reputation on the line, and you took it."

"But I knew I had help. At least, I recognized it this time," he shyly admits as he looks at me. "And that can make all the difference in the world."

We clink cans and go back to looking at the sunset until I can't help but laugh. I know he's giving me that bewildered look again.

"I thought Judge Payson's eyes were gonna pop out of her head at what Enos said." He snorts. "And Clara . . . There was a resounding 'YOU COCKSUCKER!' blasting against the back of my head just before Mitch struck. But, that's not my favorite part."

"Oh, here it comes," he says with a roll of his eyes. It doesn't deter me.

"My favorite part was when you called Enos 'the Penis'." He winces and I laugh.

"I tried to keep quiet, I really did," he says rubbing his face.

"Oh, you weren't loud. In fact, I share Conway's admiration for your menacing quality when you threatened that dick with bodily harm. It was quite impressive. I thought Enos was going to shit his pants. That was gold, Gil. Just gold," I finish with a laugh.

"It's your fault, you know," he says pointing a finger at me.

"Mine?"

He nods. "That's right. You put the name in my head and the more I tried not thinking about it there it was tumbling out my mouth." I giggle. "But you know what?" he adds as I look at him. "I would've gladly gone to jail for that."

"We all would've." He nods. "And you, my friend, are a free man. Free to do whatever you want. So, again I ask, what's next?"

He pinches his brows together and looks down. "I've got a lot of things to think about, decisions to make."

"And you've got the Sheriff here offering you a job; you've got all those CSI's begging to work with you. Gil, when are you going to learn to just let things go?"

His brow smooths out and he snorts. "Probably never?"

"That's what I thought."

"Hi, Jim," comes Simon's voice pulling my attention from Gil.

"Hey, Squirt. You having fun?"

"Yeah," he says with a giant smile. "The guys were telling me stories about all the disgusting things they've pulled out of the water and how Perch was attacked by an octopus and how when Chowder was stung by a jellyfish he swelled up like a balloon."

He's practically jumping up and down, Hairy joining in with a yip and a bark. Ah, to be that young again.

"The guys say we're almost there and they're gonna do an orientation so we don't fall overboard like Gil did."

"You fell over?" I ask and Gil ignores me.

"Did you get the whole story, Simon?" he asks instead. "Because there were underlying circumstances related to Hank and I doing a header into the Pacific."

Simon laughs then and so do I knowing I'll have to find out about _that_ story.

"Well, it's true," he says trying to keep a straight face but it doesn't last long. "Take Jim," comes out along with chuckle. "He's never been on a fishing boat before."

That sobers Simon up. "Never?" he asks of me, incredulity in his voice and on his face.

I shake my head. "Not ever. What do I have to do?"

"Come on."

My arm is grabbed and I'm pulled to my feet barely having time to hand off my Coke to Gil as I'm yanked along,

"You coming?"

"I'm a born fisherman," he says with a great amount of smugness.

"Braggart," is all I can get out as Simon drags me on deck.

**Grissom**

I hear Jim say 'so Gil fell overboard?' then Todd's voice pipes up with the whole sad story of me keeping him from his 'whale'. Laughter ensues and I can't help but grin. It was funny then and still is, especially now after everything.

Jim and I picked up Simon, Mitch and Hairy Potter then headed out to the Santa Monica Pier after a long and glorious sleep and large breakfast. By the time we got where we are going we all knew what type of fish occupied these waters and the best bait and lures to use courtesy of Simon. By the time we got on board the charter the Fab Three (Todd, Charlie and Jules) had rented for the occasion he was making sure we understood the safety rules because, and I quote, 'Mom told me to make sure all of us fishermen came home in one piece because she was making steak and eggs and she didn't want to have to throw it out.'

I managed a good glare at the guys to stop their giggles then added an 'it's always good to have safety rules aboard a sailing vessel' follow up before I, too, let loose with a muffled chuckle or three (out of their sight, of course). Parading around in his bright orange fishing hat with 'Squirt' printed on it (a gift from the guys), an overly large life jacket (courtesy of Mitch) that practically hung to his knees and a smaller life jacket for Hairy (presented by Jim), he grinned excitedly as he showed off the lure I'd made for him. His spirited laughter kept us smiling as we headed out to sea.

And I needed those smiles. All the stress I'd been under, all the doubts that'd riddled my psyche for months, faded away when Jim and I left the courthouse and I barely made it back to the hotel before passing out. If I had any dreams I've no recollection. What I do remember is feeling safe, relieved, like I could sleep for a week. But Jim's soft conversation with someone woke me. Catherine perhaps? Conway? It reminded me I should call mom and Paul.

And Sara.

But there wasn't time. Dinner with Carmine was waiting so I reluctantly got out of my warm bed at Jim's prodding, took a shower, got dressed then let him push me out the door. All I could manage was a short text to mom with a promise to call later. And dinner proved delightful. It was a joy listening to stories from both Jim and Carmine's past and not be the center of attention as had seemed to be the case for a long tedious amount of time. It was very refreshing. After prime rib and a couple of drinks, we were back at the hotel by 9pm, Jim leaving me in the lobby to make that promised call to mom.

"I know. I'm a bad son," was the first thing I said when Paul answered the phone.

He chuckled. "She got your text but Jim had already called us earlier."

"I figured. How is she?"

"Very proud of you facing down 'Enos the Penis'." His voice was filled with an overabundance of humor and I couldn't help but grin.

"It was a struggle not to punch him in the face but I wasn't looking to be in a cast again."

"Or jail."

"Or jail," I agreed.

"From what Jim tells us the judge wanted to smack him sideways as well."

"If she'd been closer I think her gavel would've been put to good use."

He laughed then and so did I and everything seemed lighter – the air, gravity, everything.

"Well, we expect a full report when you get home. Have fun tomorrow and tell Squirt to check Charlie's fish to make sure he hasn't put weights in it. He hates losing the pot."

"Really. We'll, I'll make sure he has a heavier weight in his."

"Ah, joining the grouper are you, Fin?"

"You're carping up the wrong tree, Scales."

He let loose with a laugh. "Oh, I think I broke something. Get me a sturgeon."

I groaned and laughed and leaned against the wall. "Thanks, Paul, for . . . for everything."

"No problem. Oh, I wanted to tell you that your Sara is a nice girl. Wouldn't toss that one back."

I frowned. "What?"

"Annie had her over for lunch today. Started out as a 'vigil' lunch then turned into a bunch of smiles when we got Jim's call."

"Oh, ah . . ." I stammered having no idea what to say to that.

"You might want to call her and let her know how things are. Not that I'm telling you what to do or anything."

I pursed my mouth. "Right."

"Annie says hi and hopes you don't fall overboard tomorrow."

"I did that once," I complained as he laughed.

"Have a good time. And don't forget to warn Squirt."

"I will. And, thanks Paul."

"You're welcome. Now, go call Sara then get some sleep. That's an order from someone who's older than you."

"Yes, sir."

"That's better. Night."

"Bye."

CSICSICSI

"Did you call Sara?" Jim asked as I came into the room.

"I sent her a text. It's too early to call. She should . . ." Before I could finish my phone began ringing, Sara's name on the screen. "Oh."

"Not too early for some," Jim said with a grin. "I'm going down and get an ice cream. Want anything?"

"No, thanks." He smiled and quietly left and I took a deep breath. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself," came her soft voice and my heart beat a little faster. "I'm so glad you texted me. I was hoping you'd call."

"Sorry it wasn't earlier. I was exhausted after the hearing and barely made it back to the room."

"It's okay, Gil. Really." She sounded good. "I already knew you were a free man. I, ah, had lunch with your mom and Paul," she said hesitantly. "It was sort of a vigil. Paul's words not mine."

I smiled. "Paul told me."

"Oh?"

"I'm glad you were there. Each of us needs support at one time or another." She was quiet. Too quiet. "Sara?"

"Um, yeah, Annie called me. I didn't want to say no. I wanted . . . I needed to be with a . . . part of you."

I closed my eyes at that and just felt what those words did to me. They didn't scare me.

"Hank is really good with The Kids," she popped into the silence.

"Well, he discovered them and has more sway with them than I do. I let him keep them in line." I grinned listening to her giggle.

"So now you're a free man. How does it feel?"

I snickered. "Relieved."

"Is that all?"

"Tired?" She laughed then. "Mystified?"

"Yeah, that sounds like you."

"It's just the case was dismissed because the prosecuting attorney did something stupid and . . ."

"Gil, he may have done something stupid but I'm sure the judge was heading for a dismissal before that. There wasn't any evidence linking you to fabricating evidence was there?"

"No."

"And everything you found was corroborated?"

"Yeah."

"And they found all sorts of other evidence in the perp's house, yes?"

I chuckled. "Yes."

"Then you, Dr. Grissom, are a free man."

Simply put, straightforward. It sounded just right. It sounded like all the things she'd ever said to me before, about me, about us and I gasped a little when an old familiar feeling rumbled through me.

"Gil? Are you all right?"

"Ah, yeah, yes. Must've been the steak I had for dinner," I quickly stated liking the warmth that seemed to be finding its way back to the empty places within me.

"Annie told me you're still undecided about what to do about work. Are you, um, going to stay in L.A.?"

That last part was quieter than the rest and it was like a flashlight blinding me. If I stayed here, if I joined Conway and his team, I'd be cutting myself off from Vegas, from the life I'd created, from my team, from Sara. I mean, I knew those things. It's just . . . Is that what I really wanted now that things were so very different?

"Gil?"

Startling a bit, I cleared my throat. "Ah, I'll be here for a few more days. I promised Simon a fishing trip." But that wasn't what she was really asking. "I don't know," I finally answered then grimaced. I really didn't.

"That's okay not to, you know," she assured him. "Annie says you have a lot of outside work waiting for you."

Boy, mom, why don't you just tell her everything.

"Yeah. That was . . . surprising." Much like this conversation but it didn't feel nearly as worrisome as I'd expected. "Articles, lectures, you know, the regular stuff."

"And Ranger Rick." I could tell she was smiling so smiled, too.

"That was a bonus."

"And Scientific American wasn't?"

"I favor Rick," I said with a shrug and she giggled again and tendrils of joy shot through me.

How could everything change so much after just one little epiphany? Or was it the session? Philip told me one was never going to fix all and, yet, I felt as if it may have fixed more than he'd anticipated or, at least, made all the rest seem surmountable.

"So, you're going fishing with Simon?"

"And his father, Jim, and the guys. They chartered a boat and decided night fishing was on the agenda."

"Isn't that kind of dangerous?"

"Only if everyone decides to hightail it to one side when there's a run. Fortunately, there'll only be a few of us and we'll keep an eagle eye on Simon. Of course, if he fell over he'd probably think it was cool."

She laughed outright that time and I lay back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. This was nice. It was normal. It was how it used to be and only a small portion of my gut cramped up at the thought that I'd finally taken that step on the road back to her, to something other than anger and fear.

Baby steps. That's what someone told me. I scoffed when I heard it. Now I appreciate it.

"When do you dock?" she asked.

"Sunday, sometime around 10am or so I'd guess."

"You be safe. Can't have you going overboard now that things are falling into place."

"I'll tie myself to Jim so he can pull me to safety." I grinned at the thought of a waterlogged police captain hauling me to shore, grumbling all the way.

"Thank you for letting me know how you are. It means a great deal to me."

"You know you can always call if you need to," I gave her. "I don't mind."

"I . . . I don't want . . ."

"Sara, it's okay to call me," was all I said, truly meaning it this time.

"Are you sure?"

"I am. I _want_ you to call. I-I like hearing your voice."

I'd not meant to say that aloud and shut my eyes, cringing. Then I noticed I hadn't cracked into pieces. Hmm. Perhaps the time for such things was swiftly coming to pass.

"I'll call around then. 10, I mean."

"I look forward to it," I said wondering if how many seconds past 10 would her call come in and smiled. "I should, ah, let you go. I just wanted you to know things are better."

"Thank you, Gil. Oh, and Jim told Catherine so you know what that means."

I laughed. "I never expect silence where Catherine's concerned." It was a knowing chuckle that came across the line and my smile widened.

"Well, catch a lot of fish."

"I'd better. Philip's expecting something. Of course, if I don't, Luigi's always has something good to choose from."

"You sneak," she said.

"He doesn't have to know," I stated.

"But?"

I sighed. "I'd probably tell him. I might just do that anyway. Get it from Luigi's. Who wants to take fish on a plane?"

"Stinky."

"I'd have to leave it in baggage claim, then I'd get fined and Jim would make fish jokes all the way home."

"The scales of justice would hunt you down."

I pursed my mouth. "You've obviously spent too much time with Paul."

"He's a riot, you know, and full of stories about teenager Gil."

"Oh, God." She snorted and I lapped up that sound.

"You're mother swore me to secrecy."

"Thank goodness."

"Of course she was laughing the whole time and I believe her fingers were crossed."

"Why, oh, why do I ever think I'm going to win," I said, running a hand through my hair.

"That's what your mom said."

I smirked. "I'm going to hang up now. Mostly because I don't want to hear anything else that went on and the other part is I really, really need a malt."

"Oh, that's serious," she quipped knowing my love for the ice cream beverage. "Then I bid you good night."

"As I do you."

"You have fun tomorrow. Don't fall overboard."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good night."

"Good night, sleep tight."

Reluctantly, I ended the call then stared at the phone in my hand. It used to be my enemy, silent when it should've been ringing after I'd left her all those messages. But now it was something more, something that allowed all those empty feelings to fade replaced with a well worn remembrance of all things past, all the good things that used to be.

I grinned and looked back at the ceiling, focusing on the swirls that moved across it. They reminded me, as much as I might dislike it, life flowed that way - to and fro, in circles and flat lines, running in all directions to connect and move along smoothly only to be disrupted and start again.

Was what happened on the stand really my start over point? Did all those accusations and lies that Bent threw at me represent those swirls that suddenly began righting themselves the moment the judge dismissed the case? That morphed into a sedate rolling line of hills leaving behind the crags of a tall and cracking mountain that had become my life after Sara walked out? I was determined to weather those days, to stand up to all that came my way not aware that I was losing out to erosion and time the moment I didn't leave that store.

But now, now as I laid on the bed and stared at those swirls, I knew things were different. I was different. The miasma that had encased me was gone and I felt lighter somehow. Oh, I was still uncertain which direction I was headed but the effort it was going to take to find it didn't feel so threatening.

I rubbed my eyes. Deep thoughts and steak didn't mix.

Vaulting off the bed, I grabbed my wallet and keys and headed out the door to find Jim. I really, really needed a malt.

"GIL!"

I jump, thoughts of malts and cracking mountains fleeing as I knock over Jim's Coke and soak my pant leg.

"Shit," hisses out of me and I quickly retrieve the rolling can, looking for something to mop up the mess.

"You comin' or what?" Jules says from the doorway. "Or were you planning on spending the entire trip inside?"

"Let me clean up this mess and I'll be right out."

"You'd better or we'll come in and drag your ass out."

And they would, too. "I'll be there." I don't need to look up to know he's still standing there. "I'll-be-there."

"All righty then."

Grinning, I shake my head then find a mop and swab the deck, dumping the cans into a handy recycle bucket. I don't really want to be keel-hauled so I'd better hop to. Zipping up my jacket I head on out.

CSICSICSI

"Where's Simon?" I ask of Mitch as he comes to stand next to me at the bow to watch the morning sky filled with seagulls flying around us in hopes of something tossed their way.

"Conked out a few minutes ago. Thought he'd go down earlier but he was so keyed up over winning the pot. And we didn't have to use these," he says holding up the length of weights Jim put together just in case.

"I'm not too far behind," I add with a grin then a yawn. "Not used to these hours anymore." I chuckle.

"You've been nightshift for how long?"

"10+ years and it's only taken me a little over three months to totally screw up my schedule."

"Any particular reason why you picked that shift?" he asks as I snuggle down further into my jacket against the early morning chill.

"Originally, it was the excitement of seeing what happens when most people are supposed to be asleep. Then it became something else."

"What?"

"People have suggested hiding," I say with a smirk. "I suppose that could have something to do with it."

"Hiding from what?"

"The sun? People?" I shrug. "I'm not very social. Maybe it was just the allure of the dark and what comes out of it. I've never really put much thought to it."

"It seems like a good way to kill any together time with family."

I nod. "Only our coroner is married. Has been for years. Everyone else is either divorced or alone. I suppose that tells me something."

Mitch nods and we stand in silence.

I've been waiting for him to tell me that this is the last time I'll be allowed to see Simon; that the video . . . that what I attempted to do in the video is just too much for him to get past. Instead of waiting any longer, I decide to take the bull by the horns and seal my fate myself. It won't hurt any less but at least I'll know.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about what happened in Vegas," I begin. "About what brought me here."

"You didn't have to say anything."

"I should've," I say turning a look on him. "I should've the moment I realized you trusted me with your son. It wasn't fair to either you or Clara to keep you in the dark and then be dragged into court and put through that . . . that . . ."

"Preponderance of rhetoric?" He grins.

"That sounds way better than what I was going to say. Cleaner, too."

"Thank you. I surprised myself that such big words could make it out of my mouth with so little sleep."

I chuckle then quickly become serious again. "I know you said it didn't bother you, that I asked a man to kill me, and I believe you. But, I want you to know that I would understand if this trip will be the last time I'm allowed to see Simon."

He stares at me and I hold his gaze then want to shrink from it. I'm about to stutter out some apology or something when he finally speaks.

"The day you came to our house," Mitch slowly begins, his voice tight, "Clara called me at work. She was crying and I thought, God, what's happened now."

He looks down, fiddles with the weights then turns to look out at the water.

"And then she tells me the most remarkable thing – Simon's speaking." He laughs a little then sniffles. "And that Gil Grissom is responsible, a man I've never heard of." He shakes his head then looks back at me, a softer look than before. "There aren't enough words to express to you how that made me feel so I won't even try."

I very much want to say something, anything but, like Mitch, I have no words. So, I look away, focusing on a feather popping out of my jacket.

"I hurried home," he continues, "worried Simon would stop before I could get there, afraid I'd be too late as I was before. But he hadn't nor hasn't stopped and _you_ are responsible for that miracle."

"I . . ."

"You, Gil," he interrupts, a fierce look pinning me to the spot. "Only you. The doctors couldn't do anything. Clara and I couldn't do anything. We were losing him and I couldn't lose him, too." He sucks in a breath and clears his throat. "So, as of yesterday, you are a full member of the Remington family with all rights and privileges thereto. That entitles you to invitations to all family events, holidays, drop-in rights and anything else that might come up. And you have the honorary designation of Uncle Gil unless you'd prefer something else."

My eyes fill. I'm . . . "Uh, that's, that's fine. That's more than fine." He nods. "Thank you," I softly say and desperately mean it.

He grins. "We have the paperwork at home for you to sign. Simon insisted."

I let out a short laugh to hide the hitching of my breath and wipe at my eyes.

"Well, it all has to be legal, you know," he says with a shrug and, once again, I marvel at all that is Simon.

"I accept," comes my answer and I hold out my hand which he takes. "I am honored."

"As are we," he states, covering my hand with both of his before letting go.

An easier silence fills the space between us leaving room for the sounds of water smacking the sides of the boat and brings a small smile to my lips.

I'm not going to lose Simon.

That's always been a worry of mine; losing the young boy who showed me that great strength can come from the smallest steps, unlikely experiences and quiet moments. He will always be, for me, a defining instant of time in my existence. And it all started that first day when he came into his sister's room, sat on the bed and taught me the true meaning of resilience.

"You're thinking very loudly."

I start and glance toward Mitch, flushing a bit at being caught. "I do that a lot. It drives my team crazy."

"It's called great focus."

"I prefer 'lost in thought'," I amend. "That makes me sound eccentric instead of being an old dog with a bone or so says Jim."

"Ah," he says before letting out a laugh. "Poor Jim. I never thought hanging on by your fingernails could actually work but he's made me a believer."

"It's in his nature," I respond. "Not to give up. Whether it's hanging off the side of a boat or talking someone off a roof, he's game to try and good at it, too. He's been my rock in more ways than one and I'll never be able to repay him."

"He doesn't seem the type that needs it."

I shake my head. "No, but I'll try anyway."

"So, what are you going to do now? Go back to the nightshift or try something else?"

"It's what I am . . . or it's what I was." I shrug. "I did it for so long that it became me, who I was. All of this, all the things I've been through . . . they've changed me, made me look at who I was or am differently. I thought it was such a big convoluted mess I'd never see the end of but, lately, well, after yesterday, I think I can see the end." I shrug again. "Kind of. And that's a big thing for me."

"How so?"

"In my job I rely on absolutes. There is no vacillating. There are only facts. That way of thinking spilled into my real life. 'Kind of' thinking is so at the extreme opposite end of things it's not funny. And, yet, I'm surprisingly comfortable with it. It's something my shrink calls 'going with the flow'. My friend, Paul, calls it 'the way things work' and my mom . . . well, she just calls it life." I run a hand over my eyes then yawn again.

"I prefer quirky."

I chuckle. "I like that, too." I sit a little straighter and pull that feather from my jacket that I'd seen earlier and drop it into the slight breeze that travels around us. "I want you to know what Enos said was . . ."

"Gil," he cuts in.

"What?"

He gives me a small laugh. "I've never met anyone like you. Now, don't take this the wrong way but you're an extremely smart and capable man who has this righteousness running through you that is rare, but . . ." he pauses a bit, "you do seem to be quite dense sometimes."

I blurt out a laugh. He hit that nail on the head. "That's not a new concept for me."

It was Mitch's turn to laugh then. "So let me put it simply. What Enos Bent said was hurtful and extremely foolish. My reaction will probably turn into my most embarrassing moment ever but not now. And nowhere in any of that did I or would I think it was true."

I smile and nod and we both look out to sea again and then he yawns and I can't keep from it myself.

"Well, I'm going to take a nap," he says, pocketing the weights. "Don't fall overboard while we're all snoozing."

"Why does everyone think I'm going to fall over?" I ask holding out my hands.

"Jules regaled me with the tale of you, Hank and Todd."

"One time," I say holding up a finger. "One time and I'm branded for life."

Mitch laughs. "Just be careful."

"I will," I say watching as he ducks inside.

Turning eyes back onto the pale blue sky, I chuckle at the memory of Hank and I going over and it seems like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then. So many decisions, discussions, soul searching, words spoken and not held back. A lifetime in a few months turned right side up after flailing in the dark.

_ 'We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise if we've waited in the darkness'._

So true. And that dark time has dwindled to the point of a vague fragment cowering in a corner that I can look at now with a clear head and a bit more understanding.

I did something stupid and let it consume me.

I tried to hide from it instead of facing it and fled to the absolute wrong people for letting me get away with anything.

I met three guys who treated me like a fellow fisherman not a broken man.

I found my mojo courtesy of fellow scientists and lawmen.

I met a really great kid and discovered how much I could learn from him.

I faced the one who sent me on this road and found I was stronger than I thought.

I sat in a courtroom and let a creep accuse me of being an unprincipled, deceitful criminal and greatly enjoyed telling him to watch his back.

And I was reminded what a good friend I have in Jim.

His testimony made me realize, once again, how much he thought he'd failed me. In retrospect, I wish my stubbornness hadn't hurt him so. That was never my intent. No time, not ever, should that man be hurt by my lack of . . . courtesy? Understanding? Addressing emotions as everyone else does?

He should never be treated that way and I _will_ _never_ treat him that way again. In fact, I'll be spending a lot of time making it up to him.

But, first, I plan on a bit of fun at his expense. I mean a blind man would've seen the giant fishing net on deck that, after catching his foot, tossed him over the side. True, I've poked at him already by saying 'I think we need a bigger boat' just to see his eyes pop out of his head as he frantically looked around then graciously took the steely glare he sent my way when his feet were, once again, perched upon the deck. At least he got a new nickname out of it - Jaws.

_'A friend is the first person who comes in when the whole world has gone out.'_

Ain't it the truth.

And no matter how much we toss back and forth between us, no matter all that's happened and what's to come, Jim has and will be my friend. He'll be someone who's always there, always ready to lend a hand, an ear, anything to guide me through and I will accept it and return it in kind when he needs it.

He's a stubborn cuss, just like me.

Stubborn.

Ah, there's that word again.

Not such a bad trait after all.

**End of ACT 3**

* * *

_**ACT 4 – COMING HOME**_

_The final act is on its way in who knows how many chapters. _

* * *

_Well, there you have it. Gil has finally come to terms with himself. And where will that lead? Back to work? Back to Sara? Or something else entirely?_

_I've got this last section mapped out but, if you have any suggestions or requests or idea, let me know. I'm always willing to alter my ideas if you have a better one. _

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. HAPPY THANKSGIVING! :-)_


	42. Hiatus Notification

**CSI – A Blink of an Eye – Hiatus Extended**

* * *

I wanted to notify all of my followers that the hiatus on this story will, no doubt, continue until **June 2014**.

My most humble apologies for the great length of time this is taking but with real life, writer's block, 3 writer's workshops and preparation to move, my time has been extremely limited.

**THIS STORY WILL BE FINISHED** especially since I'm about to go into the last act.

In fact, I have been slowly getting my mojo back and have been working on the next Act. I hope to have a better grasp of what I'd like to do in the coming months and get back onto a much quicker posting schedule.

So, I hope you all stick around for when I **FINALLY** post.

Thanks for your patience. It is greatly appreciated.


	43. Chapter 43

_I'M BACK! Yes, June is here and, as promised, I'm ready to start posting again. My writing workshops are over until August, we ended up not moving and my mojo appears to be back (let's hope so)._

_So, let's do a quick recap: Grissom won his case against Jeremy Roberts and managed to tell off Enos 'The Penis' Bent; he was made an honorary uncle of the Remington family and he spoke with Sara after the hearing much to his joy. Jim nearly fell overboard on their fishing trip and earned the nickname 'Jaws'. Sara had lunch with Annie and Paul as they waited for Grissom's verdict where Annie and Paul regaled her with stories from Gil's childhood (much to his dismay). And the biggest thing - Grissom feels as if he's on stable ground again with options and opportunities within his grasp, with one of those options being Sara. _

_Hmm. Sounds like he might have a plan or, at least, a few plans to choose from._

_So, I hope all of my followers have stuck around and will appreciate my efforts to get this story to the finish line. And there's no time like the present to begin._

_Onward ~_

* * *

**ACT 4 - COMING HOME**

Away I've been, these many months

Drifting

Looking

Finding

The circle's arc is coming 'round

Slowly

Carefully

Deliberately

I see a time when all will be well

Up ahead

Almost touching

Within my grasp

My path has brought me here

Step by step

Moment by moment

I'm coming home.

**Part 42 – 11:20pm**

**Nick**

"Hey, what were you doin'?" I call out stopping Greg in his tracks half in and half out of Grissom's office.

"Ah . . ." is all I get besides eyes dartin' in every direction until they land on the bag in my hand. "I could ask you the same question," he finally says around a smug grin.

My mouth forms an 'o' then closes again. I've been well and truly caught so I might as well come clean.

"I've a 'glad you're back' gift for Grissom," I admit watching his brows rise. "Crickets. Chocolate covered." We stare at each other for a moment. "What did you get?"

"I renewed his rollercoaster pass." I frown. "Woody called." He shrugs. "It's something he enjoys so I . . ." He shrugs again and looks away. "It's the least I can do."

I nod even though he's not looking at me and move to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's gonna be okay, Greg," I tell him even though I'm only sort of sure it will be.

He sighs. "We'll see," is all he says then heads toward Trace, leaving me behind.

Taking a deep breath, I step into Grissom's office and set down the bag of crickets right next to Greg's pass and a small box with Hodges' handwriting on the tag. There's a bottle of fine wine from Warrick, Scotch from Brass and an overly thick crossword puzzle book from Sara there as well. I wonder what Catherine will bring?

Looking up at his office, at all the books and bugs and jars of alien things, I feel like I did the first time I met him – nervous, anxious, jumpy. I suppose fearful should be added to the mix as well after what I did to him but it's amazing what a few well-chosen words can do to ease a moment in time that I'll always regret.

It was last week when a knock came to my door. Not even looking out the peephole, I pulled it open. I'm pretty sure by the look on his face that I had that same shocked look on mine. You know, the one where all the breath in your body has mysteriously vanished and you can't help but stand there looking like an idiot with your mouth hanging open.

Yeah, that one.

"Nick," he said finally.

"Ah, hey," is all I managed, my manners kicking in as I stepped back and motioned him inside, thinking he looked about as terrified as I suddenly felt.

"Sorry to just drop by," he was saying as I closed the door, "but I thought I'd pick up Arthur. Take him off your hands."

He was trying to be nonchalant and failing . . . and so was I.

"Oh, yeah. Ah, let me go get him."

I nearly tripped over my own feet hurrying down the hall, yelling at myself to calm down, don't run. It wouldn't do to keep Grissom's spider alive then kill him right in front of him because I was jittery as hell.

Slowing my steps, I made it safely into the bedroom, gathering up the terrarium and the food and the books in one big grab and kept my pace sedate as I returned to the living room, setting everything down on the coffee table. I smiled up at him.

"There you go," I said with a sweep of my shaky hand then tucked that hand into a pocket, taking a step back.

I watched him crouch down to take a good long look at Arthur then glance over at the food.

"I consulted with Guy Berger at the zoo. You talked about him a couple of times so I sought him out and he told me what to feed him, how much or little light he should have and what books to read to help me acclimate him to his new surroundings," I spat out knowing I sounded like a kid in school trying to impress the teacher.

Well, I was. Kind of.

"He looks . . . healthy," he said, his tone suggesting surprise.

"I figured if I was going to be responsible for him, I should be . . . responsible," I finished lamely.

He smirked and slowly rose. "That's always a good thing to be," he stated without looking at me. "Well, I should go."

"Oh, okay," I responded leaning over to grab the terrarium. "Let me help."

"That's not necessary," he answered with a shake of his head as he, too, leaned forward.

"Please," I said, begged. "Let me do this for you."

He stopped and finally looked at me. And then I could see it. There was worry there, settled deep in those blue eyes, and that was on me. If I was nervous just talking to him after what I'd done I couldn't even imagine how much it took for him to be there.

I'd seen the tape. I'd watched him ask a man to kill him and a part of me would always believe it was my fault he'd been there or, at least, I'd been a part of the problem that sent him down that path. And I'd been wracking my brain for a way to make it up to him, to let him know how sorry I was, how stupid it was to listen to my heart instead of what was right in my face.

Evidence, man. Evidence.

"All right," he finally said and let me take hold of the terrarium while he grabbed the food then opened the front door.

I could see Hank in the front seat then heard him chuffing through the half opened window, a smile on his face. Grissom opened the back door and I slid Arthur in then stepped back.

"Thanks for taking care of him, Nick," he said.

"It wasn't a problem. He was a quiet roomie." I gave him a bit of a smile and he hesitated like he wanted to say something then simply nodded before heading toward the driver's side. "Hey, Hank," I said as the boxer dipped his face out for me to rub.

I needed to say something, anything, but each time I opened my mouth nothing came out. The engine started and I yelled at myself to grow a pair. Then he began to back up and I couldn't take it.

"Wait!" I shouted and hurried over to his side, desperately trying to figure out what I should or even could say. "I . . ." Looking away, I ran hands through my hair. "I need to say something to you," finally came out.

"Okay."

I looked at him then, noticing his hands curled tightly about the steering wheel and the look of foreboding he wore.

I took a deep breath.

"I will never be able to forgive myself for the way I treated you," I began. "It was childish and cruel and so _not_ the way I was raised. You didn't deserve any of it and I need you to know that I recognize my complete lack of understanding and compassion for a fellow human being and how appalled I am at myself. I also understand that if you feel you can't work with me anymore, I will leave. No questions asked. I'll be out the door before you can turn around."

"Nick, you don't . . ."

"Let me finish," I said, holding up a hand. He nodded.

"If that's what you decide there's one thing I'd like to do before that happens. I'd like the opportunity to, at least, attempt to fix what I've broken, to make you see how much you mean to me not only as my boss and mentor but as . . . well, a friend, something I failed desperately at."

His eyes were glassy. I expected him to be angry or unreadable like he'd been so often before. This was a different Grissom and I didn't know what else to say so remained silent as did he.

Maybe it _was_ too late.

"Things happen, Nick," he finally said, "things that can't be undone no matter how much we want them to be." Don't I know it. "And maybe that's a good thing."

There went my mouth again, hanging open a moment before I could gather words. "A good thing?"

He nodded. "Adversity teaches us that we're stronger than we think or ever hope to be."

"I treated you like shit, man."

"Yes, you did," he agreed.

"I left you in the rain. You could've been killed by a lightning strike."

"True," he said with a nod. "But I wasn't."

"Why didn't you report me?"

"Why would I?"

"Why?! You're my Supervisor. I'm your employee. I failed on so many levels. You should've reported me," I insisted. "You still can." He gave out a short laugh. "Grissom . . ."

"Nick," he said, cutting me off. "Me, going into that store, wasn't your fault any more than it was Greg's or Sara's. It was mine. Just me. No one else. I will not allow you to feel responsible for my shortcomings."

"Shortcomings?"

"If I hadn't've been in such a funk I'd've taken you into my office and had words with you but I still wouldn't've written you up. Instead I just ignored it because I didn't have the energy to care. So, as a friend, I want you to know that the past is the past and I'm looking ahead now. I hope you'll do the same. Can you do that?"

"But . . ."

"Can you do that?" he repeated.

The worried look I'd seen earlier had eased. He was letting me off the hook, a self-imposed hook I admit, but a hook nonetheless.

"Okay. Yeah, if that's what you want."

"I do."

I nodded. "I can do that."

"Good. Thank you for looking after Arthur. I'll see you at work in a week or so."

With that he backed out of my drive.

A week or so?

I smiled as he drove away. He was coming back.

"Nick? You okay?"

I startle and take a step back, eyes landing on Catherine standing in the doorway then shift down to what she has in her hand – a cat carrier. That makes me smile.

"Now you're smiling. I'm worried," she adds walking into the office and over toward the desk to see all the other gifts for Gil sitting there.

"I'm smiling at your gift," I say as she sets it down.

"You should see what I have in the hall," she answers just as Judy comes by and tells Catherine the Sheriff wants to see her. She looks thoughtful.

"What did you do now?" Warrick asks as he drags in a box with 'cat condo' on the side.

"Haven't the foggiest," she answers. "All I know is that condo is 73" of cat fun with two residences, a ladder, a ramp, a nest, two perches and a dangly mouse. The kids will have a blast," she recites.

She doesn't seem fazed by the call to the Sheriff and all I'm doing is smiling like a fool.

Gil's coming back tonight.

**Greg**

"Worried aren't you?" comes Hodges voice at me. "I can see it."

He giggles and I don't say anything.

What can I say? I _am_ worried. I've been worried ever since I found out Grissom was back in town. And just to be clear my worry isn't about me or my job. I can get another job. I can go back to DNA. Makes more money anyway. No, my worries center around the fact that I pissed on my mentor when I should've been helping and that's something I never thought I'd do.

He's put up with so much from me – wild hair, loud music, my hanging on his every word. I can't very well mention how I took care of Sara for him 'cause that's like blackmail or something. And none of his roaches died on my watch . . . thank God. I'm pretty sure if one or more had and I replaced them he would've known the difference the second he saw them.

I think if he talks to me now, I'll be lucky.

Or I'll puke.

I need coffee. That's the only thing that'll calm me down. I know. Caffeine and calm don't mix but I'm not a tea guy like Sara or Grissom. I've never seen anyone drink tea like he does. That's probably why he's so Zen. Maybe his mom drinks tea, too, 'cause she seemed really happy to see me when I made myself go to Grissom's house to return his bugs. Actually, I met his friend, Paul, first. He fed me chocolate and had a paper bag ready in case I hyperventilated. That made him all right in my book.

See I decided to go to Grissom's house so he wouldn't have to come to mine 'cause being in someone else's space, especially a someone who shit on you, isn't a good thing and even though he was back in town and, eventually, coming back to work, I thought he should have his roaches back. I'd guessed he was missing them. I mean, I would if they were my pets. And they hadn't been that bad once I got used to their skritching and all.

So off I went. Didn't even call. And, boy, was I relieved when his car wasn't there. It was like I'd been holding my breath the entire drive over, going over and over in my head what I would say. But my relief was short lived 'cause now I had a problem. What do I do with the roaches?

I could've left them on his porch but that wasn't right. The sun would've fried them and that wouldn't be good.

I could've gone around the back, hopped the fence and left them in the shade on his back porch. And, if he didn't get home until late or even tomorrow, they would freeze.

Or I could've just sat there until he did come home. I can always pee in my Gatorade bottle.

"Hello."

The muffled word came at me through my window and I jumped a foot, head whipping around to not see Grissom as I expected but an older man with white hair and a ready smile. Oh, and his eyes twinkled. Grissom's eyes did that. Maybe he was a relative.

I quickly rolled down my window.

"Ah, hello," I responded.

"Are you waiting for Gil?" he asked.

"Yes . . . No. Ah, I came to deliver his cockroaches." Smooth, Greg. I cringed, he smiled.

"Come on in."

Waving at me to follow, I watched him head to Grissom's front door. He's got a dog with him. That must be Hank.

Now I had to make a decision. If I leave I'll upset Grissom's friend, relative, whatever then I should just pack everything up, leave the state, change my name . . .

But he was waiting for me by the door.

Crap.

Suck it up, Greggo. Suck it up and go meet the friend/relative of the man you screwed over.

Getting out of the car, I opened the back door and grabbed the roaches then hesitantly made my way toward him. He ducked inside and I followed, stopping just enough out of the way so he could close the door.

"Watch where you step," he warned. "The kids'll come barreling out in 3-2-1."

And here they came, two bundles of fur heading straight for him until they saw me. I now had fur socks.

"They do that every time," he explained and it really looked like he was trying not to laugh. "You can put the roaches on the table."

I complied as best I could with cats wrapping themselves around me then gave him a hesitant smile before stuffing hands into my pockets.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Ah, no, no thank you, I mean." God, nerves and speech don't mix. "No."

He smiled then offered me a seat before heading into the kitchen.

"No, I can't stay. Gotta . . . you know." Geez.

"Gil's just out shopping with his mom," he said as he came back into the room. "They should be back shortly. Here." I stared at what he was holding. "Take it," he pushed and I took the paper bag. "In case you hyperventilate while you're waiting," he said with a grin.

Normally, that would've made me laugh but, instead, I plopped silently into a chair.

"Try some chocolate," he urged holding out a box of See's.

I can tell by the look in his eyes I probably shouldn't say no so grab a Bordeaux while he takes something else and pops it in his mouth.

"Everything goes better with chocolate," he said with a slight sigh. "I'm Paul, by the way. Paul Jeffries."

I look up to see his hand outstretched and just stare at it before my brain catches up. God, he probably thinks I'm a goof.

Quickly, I take the offered hand. "Greg. Greg Sanders."

"Oh, the guy with the hair," he said and I winced a little making him chuckle. "Although it seems you've tamed it some."

God, is that all Grissom thinks of me?

"Yeah, I thought since I'm a CSI now I should present myself better."

I watched him sit on the couch. "You present yourself with your talents and that's all that matters."

I frowned. "Um, what?"

"Gil has told me over and over again what an excellent DNA tech you were; the best he'd ever seen." My frown disappeared. Really? "He was sorry to lose you in the lab," Paul continued. Great. Better lab rat than CSI. "But he really likes working with you as an investigator."

"He does?" I cringed. That was meant to be my 'inside my head' voice.

"Sure," he said as if that was the silliest question. "He appreciates how you arrive at your conclusions. Thinking outside the box. You have what he doesn't."

"Okay, you're just yanking my chain. Grissom is the best at everything."

"Not everything, Greg," Paul said and I eyed him. "He's always been a touch envious of your ability to make everything fun. You know how serious he is."

"He can be fun," I tried thinking I had to defend him or something. "Well, he used to be fun until . . ." My eyes dropped to my hands.

"Until he became nightshift supervisor?"

I nodded. "The pressure. The politics. Oh, he hates politics and he's not very good at it."

"I remember when they tried to make him student body president. Lasted for two days and he resigned citing too much time was being taken from his studies." Paul chuckled. "Mind you he was seven at the time."

"Seven?" Wow. Paul's known him a long time.

"Yep. Vowed never to head up anything ever again. That's why it surprised me he didn't hand the supervisor job to someone else. Gil's not meant for paperwork or following someone else's agenda especially when it interferes with solving a puzzle."

"Yeah. The puzzle is 'it' for him. When his face lights up and he gets that twinkle in his eye, you know the bad guy's toast." I smile and so does Paul and then suddenly I remember what I did and that smile leaves. "Ah, I should be going," quickly comes out of me and I jumped to my feet. "Thanks for letting me in."

Quickly, I head for the door, my hand almost on the knob.

"Greg, he's not mad at you," comes at me from behind. My stomach relocates into my throat.

"He should be," I finally got out without turning around. "I was a bastard."

"Maybe so," I heard him come up behind me. "But that's in the past. He's looking toward the future now."

I frowned and turned. "He needed help and I just . . . I didn't okay. He's taught me everything and the one time I could've returned the favor I . . ."

"Was a prick," Paul said and I just nodded. "Well, that's what people do, Greg."

"That can't be the answer."

He shrugged. "Most of the time it is. So why don't you move forward like he is. The next time you see him, apologize if you must, smile and move on. If he flattens you, pick yourself up, smile and move on."

It sounded so easy. It couldn't be that easy.

Could it?

"I'm pretty sure he won't though," Paul added. "Flatten you."

"Why is that?"

"Getting another cast is not high on his list of things to do."

He grinned and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Everything's going to be okay, Greg. You know how I know?" he asked and I shook my head. _Mew, mew_ rose up to greet me and I looked down. "The kids like you," he answered pointing toward my feet.

Before I could get the answer to that cryptic comment, the door hit my back and I danced away, eyes falling on an older woman with bright blue eyes and a grin. No one had to tell me who she was.

"Hello," she said, her voice lower than I expected.

"H-hello, Mrs. Grissom," I said reaching quickly to take the two large bags from her. "What a gentleman," she quipped as I followed after her like a puppy, setting the bags on the table.

"Greg?"

I cringed. It was like being called into the principal's office. I slowly turned and looked up.

"Grissom," I responded, my voice cracking. I knew the tips of my ears were red.

He just looked at me then his eyes shifted to the kids at my feet then over to Paul who shrugged. Grissom sighed then wordlessly looked back at me.

"I, ah, brought your roaches back," I quickly supplied, pointing toward the table. "They're all there. I didn't lose a one."

Silently, he walked past me, placing the bags he had on the floor then looked intently into the terrarium. Pursing his lips, he stood up straight then nodded.

"They look good."

"I got some books and asked questions online 'cause I didn't want you to come home to, you know, dead, ah, bugs."

Friends? Roommates? Either would've been better than bugs.

"That's very thoughtful. Thank you."

And then he grinned at me. That little sideways grin I'd seen so many times and never expected to see directed at me again.

"You're welcome. Well, I've got to go. You know, get some sleep before my shift. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Grissom," I said returning her smile as I backed up to the door.

"You take care now, Greg," Paul said to me as he scooped up the kids from my feet. I had to admit they were precious.

I started out then stopped turning back to his smiling face. "Thanks."

"Any time," he said and I was off, practically running to my car just in case Grissom decided to storm out and punch my lights out.

But he didn't and I made it home unscathed. And now I'm going to have to spend more than five minutes with him when he comes in tonight.

I wonder if I have time to go get the kids?

* * *

_Well, there you have it. I hope the wait was worth it. I know I sure had fun in writing it. _

_I simply refuse to tie myself to a posting time (since I can't seem to meet those deadlines anyway) but I do hope to be better at getting the chapters out. We're in the final stretch. If any of you want to see something in particular, send the suggestions my way and I'll see if I can work them in._

_In the meantime, please review. Those always make my day. I'M GLAD I'M BACK! :-)_


	44. Chapter 44

_Howdy! Here is the 2nd part of the last part - Grissom's first night back - with, hopefully, some nice touches. Grissom is a new man - more confident, more like his old self and he's doing what I always liked to see him do - smile._

_I appreciate all the reviews and thank everyone for being so uplifting. Thanks to: TessTrueHeart, SarahmUK, Sonoali-aka GrissomLover, stlouiegal, SevernSound, leah-audresgramma, onthecorner, Hithui, was spratlurid quimby and, of course, Nancy 1. You guys are the best!_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 43 – 11:38pm**

**Catherine**

I leave the boys behind discussing the virtues of the cat condo and make my way toward Sheriff Elam's office. I'm in no hurry. He can wait. Technically, I'm not even on the clock yet.

Besides I know what he wants to talk about.

I feel pretty smug. I could say it's a woman's intuition but that would only be part of it . . . the early part before I got a call four days ago inviting me out to breakfast. I accepted, of course. Left straight from work, went home and got Lindsey off to school then hurried over to the Jim Dandy diner to find Gil waving at me from across the room with a big smile on his face. My, he looks good. Of course visions of his bare ass fly through my head which makes me giggle as I head his way.

"Catherine," he said as he stood. I couldn't help myself and hugged him. Surprise, surprise when he returned it. "Thank you for coming."

"How could I not," I said sliding into the seat opposite him. "A good looking man offers to buy me breakfast. I'm in."

He chuckled and shook his head looking up as the waitress sauntered over.

"You want your regular, bugman?" she asked of him.

"No, Darla. Today I'm going to have French Toast with syrup."

"Fancy, fancy," she said with a grin before turning to me. "And what can I get for you? Please say it's not a fruit salad 'cause you're fit enough already."

I laughed out loud. "I'm going to have the same thing as Fancy Pants except I'll have boysenberry jelly instead of syrup."

"Now you're talking," Darla said relieving us of our menus. "Chocolate milk and juice for you," she said pointing at Gil, "and a mocha latte for you, right?"

I gave a slight shake of the head. "You're good."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks. I'll be back in a few with your drinks."

And she was off and I was smiling at Gil. "Bugman, huh?"

He shrugged but the grin never left his face. "I've been here a few times."

I shook my head and laid a napkin in my lap before facing him again. "So, work or pleasure?" He frowned. "This. Breakfast. Work or pleasure?"

"Ah," is all he said folding his hands on top of the table. "A little of both." Darla came back with our drinks and he downed half his juice as she left.

"Don't get brain freeze or anything trying to tell me you love me," I quipped, giggling at the look on his face then began to worry when he started coughing. I got up but stopped when he held up a hand. Sitting back down, I waited.

"You," he began, clearing his throat, "are, what my mother calls, a caution."

I laughed. "I like your mother already."

He grinned, coughed some more then gave me a serious look. "I wanted you to know I take great pleasure in your company, Catherine. Always have. And I wanted to thank you for everything you've ever done for me, especially these last few months."

Very solemn was that statement so I had to curb my natural tendency to make fun. Not that I didn't think he meant it, it's just, well, I didn't want him to be serious. He'd spent the last three plus months being serious, dangerously serious and I didn't like having to remember that time any more than I had to. So I tempered my smile and held his gaze.

"That's what friends do, Gil," I answered sincerely.

But he just shook his head. "It was far more than that. You offered to help me and I ignored it."

"That's . . ."

"And I'm sure you covered for me many times before I . . . Well, before I did a foolish thing."

The side of his mouth went up at that understatement of the year.

"Like I said that's what friends do," I repeated.

"I left you to deal with Ecklie," he added.

I pointed at him then narrowed my eyes. "That was . . ." I paused and he winced. ". . . the most fun I've had in a long time."

Eyes widening, his face relaxed as he chuckled. "Only you, Catherine."

"Hey, I don't take his shit and he knows it. Got to where he stayed away which pleased me to no end and everyone else as well."

"Still," he continued, "I wanted to thank you. And the only proper way to do that is to invite you and Lindsey over for dinner Saturday. Mom's cooking pot roast." He grinned then. "Best thing ever."

And gone was the seriousness, back was the Grissom I remembered before Sara walked out – the one with that sparkle in his eye. I'd first seen it after Jim and I found him trapped under the bed with the Kids and there it still was even after all the goings on at his hearing. He was in a good place. Thank God.

I smiled back at him. "Linds and I'll be there."

"Good," he said. "Now onto work stuff."

"Now you've gone and ruined my happy feelings with work talk."

"Oh, I think you'll like this."

His eyes were twinkling.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," I chastised.

"If you're willing," he began, deliberately drawing it out, "I'd like you to remain as nightshift supervisor."

He said it with such glee that it threw me off. Even more so after the words filtered into my head. I'm pretty sure my shocked stare lasted a tad longer than is really appropriate but I couldn't help it.

Once recovered, I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why?"

"I need to feel my way back," he admitted with a shrug as if that explained everything.

"Okay, does this have anything to do with how the boys shit on you?"

He adamantly shook his head. "No.

"Or the video?" I asked next. "'Cause no one has mentioned that since it first broke and they won't mention it again." And they wouldn't unless they wanted my heels up their ass.

"Catherine . . .."

"Sara. It must be Sara."

He grabbed my hand and gave me that look – the one that yelled SHUT UP very quietly.

"I need to feel my way back to see if this is what I want to continue doing with my life." Oh. "If I go back to being supervisor _right_ now I'll be gone in a day."

"If you join the team, will you be gone in a week?"

He grinned and let go of my hand. "I just need time."

Before he pulled away, I grabbed his fingers and held fast. "Then you shall have it." He smiled and I slowly let go of his hand. "I'll talk to the Sheriff . . ."

"Already have and he agreed that I could go back to being the Field Officer."

My eyes grew narrower still. "Oh, you are a sneaky bastard."

He shrugged. "That's why you love me."

"I'll give you that," I said with a laugh. "Field Officer. Wow. Like old times."

"Better times," he answered. "More fun times."

"You're sure now?"

"Yeah. This wasn't a hard decision, Catherine. Once I made it, everything just felt right. And I'm all about things feeling right nowadays."

He smiled and I smiled with him. This was the Gil I knew and loved. He'd been missing for some time. I was so very glad to have him back.

"Here you go, honey," Darla said as she approached. Laying a plate in front of Gil she then put mine down. It looked good. "Stuff yourselves 'cause you never know what the rest of the day'll bring."

She smiled then left and I dug in.

Yummy.

I think I'm coming back.

The rest of the breakfast was filled with Simon, Hank and the Kids stories, his mom and Paul stories. I filled him in on a drunk who drove his car all the way to Reno and back and didn't know there was a body draped over his engine (under the hood) until his car started to overheat. That kept us in the diner for a good two hours until I gave him all the info. And I mean all. It was like watching a man reborn.

And I liked it.

"Hey, where you headed with that smile on your face?" comes Jim's voice from behind drawing me back to the present.

"Been called to the Sheriff's office."

"Oh?" We walk a few steps. "Hot date?" I laugh and he grins.

"Not this time," I quip with a waggle of my brows making him laugh. "He wants to talk to me about something."

"And you know exactly what it's about don't you?" he asks as I just grin. "I thought so. Well, I'll find out soon enough. Gonna go wait for Gil. Make sure he actually comes _into_ the building when he gets here. Have fun."

He waves and peels off and I just keep going.

I hope Ecklie's there.

That would be a blast.

**Sara**** – 11:40pm**

"You do know that staring at a watch is like waiting for a pot to boil, right?"

I startle a bit then blush when Warrick smiles at me.

I admit it. I'm excited. I mean, I'm really excited.

Gil is coming back to work.

If I could get away with it I'd leap around like a fool and yell YIPPEE! at the top of my lungs. But then I'd have to put up with laughs and comments all night. And not just all night but all year!

But it would be worth it.

"Now you're grinning. And I know it's about Grissom."

I glance over at him and blush again and he just wraps his arm about me and pulls me close.

"Obviously things are going good between you two? Not that I'm prying or anything."

Do I say anything? Wouldn't that be like fiddling with the balance of things if I shout out a big fat YES! and all the good things we've been achieving dance away out of sight? I never was very superstitious. You know not stepping on a crack or hope a black cat doesn't cross my path. Walking under a ladder I get. That's just dumb. But now . . . Everything is so new, so tentative, so breakable. Do I dare share my hopeful desires with anyone except my crystal unicorn and Philip Kane?

Ah, what the hell.

"Yeah, yeah they are," I say and wait.

But the world doesn't end and I don't shatter into a thousand pieces.

Well, not yet anyway.

"I'm glad," Warrick says with a nod, hesitates then lets me go, clasping his hands in front of him.

"But?" I ask not really wanting to hear anything after that word.

"Second chances are a gift, Sara," he says, those beautiful eyes locked on mine. "I know from personal experience." A small smile comes at me then. "It's very rare to get a third."

Slowly, I nod. I do know that. I know that very well.

He pats my shoulder then backs away. "Better check your watch. I think a full minute may have passed."

I laugh and so does he before heading down the corridor, leaving me to, yeah, look at my watch.

Nineteen minutes left.

I should get to work on the Carlson case because it would probably make Gil uncomfortable to find me staring at the door when he comes in and he's going to be uneasy anyway and that won't help. We've been having regular sessions with Philip and everything is getting easier but I don't want him to think that I'm lying in wait like some stalker because I was never going to do that, ever.

I need to breathe.

Waving a hand in front of my face, like that'll do any good, I head toward the evidence room, mumbling to myself, wondering if I'll even make it through this shift without squealing.

Well, there's so much to squeal about!

First, it's been very hard to keep quiet about his new position but I can't spoil it. He called me and told me. I know Catherine already knows but she has to. I'm just tickled he let me know before she announced it. I don't do stunned very well. I always look like a fish with a gaping mouth. Very unattractive.

And we've been to lunch a few times since he came home. He's regaled me with how Jim 'Jaws' Brass got his new nickname. He laughed while telling me that, for a second, he thought he was going to become one with the ocean once Jim got back on deck. And how he quietly, in that oh so deep menacing voice I've heard on occasion, threatened that dweeby prosecutor who dared to bring charges in L.A. It surprised him how good that made him feel and how it probably shouldn't. But the biggest thing he told me about was becoming a pseudo uncle to Simon and a member of the Remington family. He beamed with pride when he laid that on me. The look reminded me of when he showed me he owned part of Trigger.

I laid my hand over his after he told me that one and gave him a wide smile only to lose it quickly when I realized what I'd done. I'd tried to pull away but he rested his other hand atop mine. I was trapped and didn't know what to do.

"I'm sorry," stuttered out of me as I looked away from those blue, blue eyes.

"Why?" he asked his question making me look back up.

His head was tilted, his lips pursed and he looked genuinely puzzled. I let out a long breath.

"Because I promised you I wouldn't push." I grimaced reliving all of that horrible time in the space of a second.

"And so resting your hand on mine is pushing?" he asked.

"Gil," I started but nothing followed.

"Now _this_ might be considered pushing," he said next then did something that made my heart leap.

Lifting his hand from the back of mine, he then turned over the one I'd captured and wrapped his fingers around mine. His thumb rubbed gently across the top of my hand and I shivered. All I could do was stare at what I thought I'd never see again.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked in a soft voice and I silently shook my head feeling my eyes fill with tears. Despite my efforts one slid slowly down my cheek and I hastily wiped it away. I felt him relax his hold and start to pull away.

"Don't," I said looking back up at him. He hesitated then tightened his grip, throwing in his other hand to wrap completely about my mine.

We sat like that, not saying a word, for what seemed like forever. At least until a phone rang, a ring I didn't actually hear the first time.

"Sara," he said. "Sara?"

"Huh?"

A small smile appeared. "Your phone's ringing."

"My phone?" He only nodded. "My phone," I repeated using my free hand to pull it out of my jacket. Less than 20 seconds later the call was over and the bubble had burst. "A court date for tomorrow's been moved up to today."

"Duty calls," he said.

I stared at our hands and so did he. Neither of us moved.

"I should . . . really go," I added but still didn't let go.

"Yeah." Then he blinked a couple of times. "Um, yeah. Right," fumbled out of him and we ended up letting go at the same time. "I've got to go shopping with Mom. She wants to get Paul something to remind him of their trip."

"Are they heading home?" I hoped not. They were good for Gil.

"Not for another couple of weeks, at least," he said with a grin. "I think mom's happy to stay longer. She likes taking care of me. Her words," he admitted with a shrug. "And I like it, too." He smiled then. "And Paul can't wait for me to get back to work so he can tag along. He's becoming quite the entomologist."

He laughed then and we were back to where we'd started, before I'd grabbed his hand, two people starting to feel comfortable with each other again. I never thought I'd be in that position again.

And now he's coming back to work in . . . 12 minutes.

Oh, I squealed.

Don't care.

I may just do it again.

**Grissom**** – 11:48**

Well, here I am in the parking lot.

The parking lot on Westfall Avenue.

Westfall Avenue where my job is waiting for me.

Where my ass is sitting in my car and I can't seem to open the door . . . and there goes my phone right on cue.

"Yes, Paul," I say. "No, I'm still in the car." I rub my eyes. "I do plan to get out of the car, yes." I take in a deep breath and blow it out slowly. "At some point, yes." I grin. "A song of encouragement is exactly what I need right about now, thank you."

My grin grows into a smile then a laugh when I not only hear Paul and Mom but Hank and the Kids chiming in with "Good Vibrations". So I join in. Of all the other times they've done this for me, I think this one is the best.

I stop singing and laughing long enough to thank them then tell them to go to bed, it's late, before putting my phone away. And, precisely at that moment, someone taps on my window and I nearly have a heart attack.

"You coming in or what?" comes Jim's muffled voice through the glass.

He steps back as I open the door. "Christ, Jim," I curse at him. "You almost had a crime scene here."

He holds his hands up. "What?" he says tossing a perfectly bewildered look at me.

Deciding there's no way to make a graceful exit now, I get out of the car, close and lock the door, then zip up my jacket against the evening breeze. Hands tucking away in pockets, my fingers find the small quartz Philosopher's Stone Simon sent me for good luck and I hold it tightly.

"You ready?" he asks.

I let out a breath. "I still have ten minutes."

I wait for him to say something like 'if you fall of a horse you get right back on' or 'no time like the present' or 'fall seven times, stand up eight'. Instead, he leans back against the car, crosses his arms over his chest and glances up at the night sky.

"Then let us stargaze for a bit and think on how long it would actually take to reach Mars."

"150 to 300 days," I answer automatically leaning back next to him and turning my gaze to the darkness above.

"Oh?"

I nod. "Depending upon the launch speed, how Earth and Mars are aligned, and how much fuel you're willing to spend to get there." I look over at him seeing a hint of a grin. "More fuel, shorter travel time." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Well, it makes sense from a logical standpoint," I answer as he pats me on the arm.

"Man, I missed this."

"What?" I ask with a frown.

He smiles. "I missed you walking up to me on a scene and tossing out some quote or random fact that, at first glance, seems misplaced. It's not 'til an hour or more later it hits me how perfectly it fit."

"A quote or factoid should never be wasted." He laughs then. "I'm serious."

"I know," he responds wiping at his eyes. "And that's what I missed. You, Gil. I missed you. Welcome back."

I grin. "It's nice to be missed."

He raises his eyebrows at me. "This from the man who doesn't want cake in the breakroom on his last day?"

"Well, is it white cake with chocolate frosting?" I deadpan. "Because I usually can't pass that up."

He laughs again then nearly doubles over and I wonder if he's as nervous as I am. We've been through a lot, Jim and I, over the years but, especially just recently. I'll never be able to repay him for what he did for me in L.A. but I figure he's not expecting me to. Doesn't mean I won't try.

"Hey, Grissom!" comes at me and I turn to see Bobby Dawson running toward the front door. "Glad you're back!" he shouts over his shoulder before slipping inside.

"One down about 40 to go," Jim throws out there as he wipes at his face once again. I frown at him as he looks at me. "There's your team, all the Lab Rats, Al, the Sheriff." My brow rises. "He really likes you." My brow rises further. "Me. Um, all my guys, Doris the 911 operator. Oh, then there's Tina, that gal at the courthouse. She asked me about you the other day. There's Wanda down at the coffee cart who wanted me to remind you she owes you three cinnamon rolls for finding Ruby, whatever that means."

"Her cat," I say and now it's his turn to frown. "Ruby is her cat."

"Okay. Oh, there was somebody else," he says holding a finger against his bottom lip. "Taylor over on 7th under the bridge," he says pointing in that direction. "Wants me to thank you for the hand me downs. He thinks you're cool."

I shrug. I had some old clothes. He helped me on a case. If that makes me cool, so be it.

"What about Judy?" I ask since she was the only one left he hadn't mentioned.

"Oh, she's been smiling all week and making sure your office is dust free, which Catherine appreciates. And I saw a big bunch of flowers courtesy of Director Germen and his team waiting for you at her desk." I look at him. "That's right. I read the card. Sue me."

I chuckle then grab my phone as it vibrates. My chuckle turns into a smile.

"Who's it from?" Jim asks.

"#41, 42, 43 and 44 of my well-wishers - Clara, Mitch, Simon and Hairy telling me, and I quote, 'kick ass and take names'."

"Ah, a sentiment I live my life by."

"It seems to work for you," I agree and we both nod. I pocket my phone then push away from the car. "Well, shall we go in?"

"Only if you're ready, Gil."

Only if I'm ready. And how many times have I asked myself that this last week alone? I stopped counting at 148. Okay it was more like 321.

I suck in a breath, let it out slowly and lean back against the car.

"Is it good news or bad?" he asks and I look over at him. For being so enigmatic, he can sure read me like a book.

"Good news," I answer. "For me, anyway."

"Then out with it."

I shift my gaze over to him. He looks worried. "I've decided to come back as the Field Officer," I say. "Catherine will remain supervisor for the foreseeable future."

Slowly, he nods, the worry gone. "Going back to your old position. Good plan. Have you told Sara?"

I'm so glad I have friends who look out for me. "Yes," I answer and he grins.

"Annie reminded you didn't she?"

I open my mouth to respond and realize I don't have to. He's got that knowing look in his eyes. Instead I push away from the car and take that first step toward the door before glancing over my shoulder. "Coming?" I simply ask.

Jim grins and follows after me. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Then suddenly the door is in front of me. It seemed farther away just a minute ago. Jim opens it and we step inside.

And the first thing that greets us?

"Dr. Grissom," Judy says with a big smile as she holds out a large vase of flowers. "Welcome back. We've missed you terribly."

"It's good to be back," tumbles out of me without thought.

"Gil," comes Al's voice as he ambles over reaching out to shake my hand, David Philips standing behind him.

Then they're all there – Warrick, Hodges, Wendy, Sheriff Elam with Catherine next to him, Archie, Mandy along with Greg and Nick hiding behind Sofia, both giving me little waves when I catch their eye. I aim a pointed look at Jim and he quickly nods toward Bobby who mouths 'sorry'. It makes me chuckle then grabs at my heart that these people seem genuinely pleased to see me. They'll never know how much all this means to me.

But there's someone missing and I glance toward Catherine who tilts her head to the right and I look in that direction. And there she is standing silently in the back, a very fake stunned look on her face soon replaced with a giant smile and all my nerves fall away.

As of this moment I'm sure glad mom talked me out of buying that fishing boat.

* * *

_Okie dokie. Our boy is back at work. Will he like his new position? Will he decide he'd rather be the supervisor? Will he quit? Who knows what goes on in the mind of Gil Grissom. I don't even know. He is his own man and I just go along with it._

_If any of you have any suggestions, feel free to enlighten me. I'm always open to new ideas and new directions._

_Please review and thanks for reading. :-)_


	45. Chapter 45

_Howdy! Hope everyone is having a tolerable summer. Our weather is going from cold to hot to rainy to hot to cold ... Fortunately, I enjoy staying inside. It gives me more time to write, my favorite past time.  
_

_I wanted to thank everyone for their lovely reviews - Peggiegg (Chapter 5 - better late than never), Sarafly, Sarahmuk, Torcan (Sara wasn't at the Saturday dinner), was spratlurid quimby, stlouiegal and Nancy1._

_This part is a bit long but I couldn't figure out where to cut it. It's all from Grissom's POV.  
_

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 44**** – 2 weeks later **

**Grissom**

It's like I was never gone.

Well, let me amend that. Three days _after _I was back it was like I was never gone. Those first three days though . . . Actually, it was two days before the first day so three days . . .

I should probably go in order.

**2 days before Day 1**

Sara. Almost made a really big faux pas there.

I had two days before I was due back at work. Dinner with Catherine had gone off without a hitch which left me with time to relearn my own special brand of puzzled obliviousness that I try to exude at all times. Well, most of the time anyway. I started with Hank who was easy to impress then moved onto the Kids. Success again. Pleased with myself I tried it on Mom and Paul . . . and failed miserably. They made me laugh not a minute in. (It was Paul's imitation of Ecklie that undid everything. He's never even met the man and had him down pat.) If I couldn't make it through with a fake Ecklie I'd never be able to pull it off with the real one. And, sometimes, I just needed to be able to do that. Shame on me, I know.

So when they finally behaved, we started again and that's when the nerves cropped up as a very important point hit me like a bus – my illusion of mystery was gone. My team, Catherine's team now, knew an awful lot about me and that just set off teeming thoughts of would they judge me, give me funny looks, talk behind my back or to my face or even want to work with me at all. I mean, I'm the guy that asked someone to kill him and when I get back on scene I'm going to have to endure questions and looks and pointed fingers from cops, onlookers, the press, the victim's families. Hell, I may only find solace with the DB.

When those convoluted thoughts hit the tics and roiling stomach twisted me into knots and improved sales of Rolaids and Ginger Ale in my vicinity. And in my haste to keep my stomach right where it should be, I'd forgotten something very important.

"You've told Sara about your new position, right?" Mom asked.

I nearly choked on my Rolaid and Paul had to smack me on the back a few times before I stopped coughing.

"Shit," was the first whispered word I could utter.

"Ah, that would be a no," Paul answered for me. Mom merely shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Downing the rest of my Ginger Ale, I glanced at the clock. 7:00pm. She should be in bed if she wasn't on a triple. I still had two days before I was scheduled back. I shouldn't bother her this late. Maybe I should've had Catherine tell her. No, no I couldn't do that. It was my responsibility to let her know instead of just springing it on her in front of everyone. That was the old me. The new me would step up, take the bull by the horns and tell her. Simple as that.

"Gil?" My eyes snapped over to Paul. "You, ah, going to call her or just stare at the clock all night?"

"Um, call her?" Inwardly, I cringed at the ringing indecision in those words.

"Yeah, so she's in the loop like Catherine," he reminded me. "So Ecklie doesn't get in her face, piss her off and she's beats the crap out of him."

"Right."

"And don't forget Jim," Mom added in.

"Yeah." I glanced between the two. "I'll send her a text." Paul stared at me. "In case she's sleeping," I quickly added while he reluctantly nodded.

My finger was barely off the send button when my phone rang. I seized up at the sight of her name. But just for a moment.

"Do you sleep with your phone in your hand?" I asked catching her off guard.

"Ah, no."

"That's the second time I've gotten a lickety split call back from a text. You should be asleep."

"Well, I was in bed," she tried to explain.

I just shook my head then saw Paul raise his brows and lean in close. Giving him a narrowed gaze, I headed toward my bedroom, closing the door on his 'spoil sport' that drifted down the hall.

"Seriously, Sara. You should be asleep not answering a text."

"But, well . . ."

"That's all you have?"

"Give me a minute. Geez." For some reason that made me grin. "Okay, I answered my phone because . . .

"Because?"

She huffed. "Because _you_ called. Okay?"

My heart did a little dance and I had to sit down on the bed.

"Gil?"

I cleared my throat. "That's a, a pretty good excuse."

"I thought so."

I was smiling now. It was a good feeling.

"I, ah, called because I was going to invite you to an early walk with Hank but it's supposed to rain all morning so I've changed my plans."

"Um, okay."

Oh, she's not used to me changing my plans. Seemed normal to me now.

"I know," I answered. "Me being spontaneous. Go figure." She giggled then. "Okay, this is good. You're laughing."

"You're making me nervous, Gil," she stated and I settled down.

"Right. Okay."

God, I was so nervous. This was my own decision and a good decision, too. I needed to get away from being the face of CSI, to take back the quiet of solving mysteries and doing for others what I'd done for Mitch and Clara. Get the bad guy. Give those who need it resolution.

"I'm stepping down as Supervisor and leaving that job in the capable hands of Catherine."

"For how long?"

That was her serious voice, all levity gone. "For the foreseeable future."

"So, what exactly does that make you?" came the question, a bit of worry tinging her voice.

"I'm going back to my old position of Field Officer."

"Field Officer."

"Yeah. I was Jim's Field Officer when he was supervisor. I loved it."

"Is this something the Sheriff pushed on you?" she asked, the worry in her voice heading toward mad.

"No. This was all my idea. And here are the reasons. One," I began holding up a finger, "I don't want to be pushed back into a job that buried me in paperwork and Ecklie. Two, I really didn't like that job. I wasn't good at sitting all night going through files when all I wanted to do was be on a case. And, three, I really, really want to have time to start doing experiments again."

"So there's no other reason?"

"If you're speaking of what I euphemistically call my 'time away', that is not on my reason list. It's merely an asterisk, a footnote if you will. I learned a lot about myself, Sara, and how much my job wasn't very much fun anymore. But, when I worked with Conway's team in L.A., when I met Simon, I rediscovered my love for the puzzle and I can only enjoy that when I'm not in charge. Do you understand?"

"Of course." I could hear the relief in her voice. "Gil, you don't need my understanding or anyone else's. You must do what makes you happy and if that's standing in the rain at the body farm for hours on end watching a blow fly then do it."

"That's what I was thinking," I added excited all over again. "It's been four years. Four years since I truly immersed myself in an experiment. I miss it. I suppose that sounds juvenile. I mean I'm nearly old fart status and I still want to discover why things work."

"That's because you've always had the capacity for wondering. That's one thing about you that's never changed."

"That's nice. However, I was expecting you to either denounce that I was a juvenile or, at the very least, an almost old fart."

She laughed out loud and quickly started to make amends to which I interrupted her.

"Too late. Apologies are not accepted if they have to be dragged out of you."

"You're pouting aren't you?" she asked.

I fiddled with a piece of lint on my pants. "Maybe."

"Is it a full pout with the trembling chin and teary eyes or just the bottom lip pushed out."

I sighed. "There's no point in doing a full blown pout if you're not around to see it." She chuckled some more and that wiped my pout away.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. "I was worried you weren't coming back at all."

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, a bit exasperated. "Gil, there are too many reasons why you might choose not to come back for me to just pick one."

"Try."

"Okay. Simon."

"Simon?"

She sighed. "When you told me you'd been adopted into the Remington family, I figured you'd be staying there. Your mom and Paul are there. Simon's there."

"But you're here," I answered without thinking damning my mouth and her silence. "Okay. That's a good way to put a damper on things. Sorry about that but I've been thinking about what I would miss if I stayed in California and, truthfully, you were on that list. So shoot me."

"Gil, that is . . . Thank you for that."

"Which part? The shoot me part or . . ."

"That I'm still a part of your life. You'll never know how much that means to me."

I heard her sniff and rubbed at my own eyes. "Well, I mean it. I'm still not sure about things but I do like being in the same city with you even if I'm a little gun shy."

Geez, why don't you just stop talking!

"Um, do I need to act stunned?"

"What?"

"When you announce your plans to the team. Do I need to act stunned?"

Knowing Sara as I do, this asking me something completely different from what we'd been talking about was a safety mechanism. In the past, I would've felt bad about bringing anything up. Surprisingly, this time I didn't. In fact, it made me feel stronger.

I shook my head. "They'll see right through your act."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You mouth has a tendency to flop open and that's so over the top acting. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't win a Tony for that performance."

"I bet you I can pull it off," she declared.

"Oh? What's the bet?" I asked, intrigued.

"Breakfast. I'm cooking."

"You're cooking?" I asked not meaning to sound so stunned but, well, I was.

"That's right, mister."

"Hmm."

"Coward."

"Name calling. Shame."

"Well? Are you game?"

I grinned. "You're on. If you are outed by the end of shift, you owe me a homemade breakfast."

"And if no one does?

"Then I shall bow to your thespian ability and return the favor."

"Very well. I accept."

"Good. Now go to bed. I won't have Catherine yelling at me for keeping you up to all hours."

"Yes, Mr. Field Officer, sir." I was pretty sure she was saluting.

"That's better. I'll see you in a couple of days. Can't wait to see how much trouble I can get into."

"Ecklie's been seen mumbling to himself and making multiple visits to the Sheriff's office. I'd steer clear of him if you can," she warned.

"That doesn't sound like much fun." A surprised laugh came through the phone. "Now, Sara, go to bed."

"I can't wait to see you at work," she said softly, making me feel all warm and happy.

"I can't wait to be seen."

"And I'm glad you're staying because I'm here," she said so quietly I almost missed it. "Sleep tight."

"Night."

Ending the call I stared at the phone then fell back onto the bed.

I could've called her on that comment. But I didn't dare because then I'd have to have a definitive answer on whether or not I'd be able to take her back. I knew I was leaning in that direction but needed everything to go slow. I needed to be in charge and decide for myself if it was something I could do again.

Propping up my head, eyes fell on the framed photo sitting atop the dresser that used to sit next to the bed. Rising, I made my way toward it and ran a finger over Sara's face, taking in that special smile, a smile I thought I'd never see again. Yet I had - when she held me in the store and in the ER, when she helped me home from our session and when I held her hand at the restaurant.

A shiver ran through me and I looked away trying not to remember how it felt when I moved it the first time, pretty sure its next stopping point would be a box tucked away in the closet. Taking a deep breath, I looked back at the photo then hastily grabbed it, marching over to my bedside table. Hesitating as my mind flashed FATE like a neon sign in my head, I shook it off and put that photo back where it belonged. Then I waited fully expecting the roof would cave in, the world would end, something catastrophic would occur. But nothing happened. The roof stayed where it should, my heart was still beating (a bit faster, I admit) and I could hear Mom laughing in the other room.

Smiling at myself, I headed toward the door to join in, opened it and promptly stumbled over two balls of fur and a big Boxer loitering on the other side. Landing with a thud on the floor, I saw Paul leap out of his chair and hurrying toward me as Hank and the Kids smothered me mews and barks. And through it all I couldn't help but laugh. If this was as harsh as Fate was going to get, I could live with that.

** Day 1 - Back at Work**

With a little hitch in my get-along (Dad always liked to say that) after bruising my hip on the floor, back to work I went. There were two things I learned this day - how much the team missed me (those gifts were, not only so unexpected, but thoughtful as well) and how all the laughing I did trying to regain my detached calm resulted in an unexpected carefree attitude. And it didn't take long to manifest. About 15 minutes actually.

After all the welcomes and hellos and white cake with chocolate frosting (how did they know about that, Sara?), Catherine brought the team together and made the announcement - I was temporarily holding the position of Field Officer and she would remain supervisor. The happy smiles soon disappeared followed by a shocked moment of silence. (Including Sara's open-mouthed look. I was right. It was totally fake. I surely would win the bet.) Then the questions started flying and I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I was planning to answer each and every one. I'd even opened my mouth to start when Ecklie made an appearance complete with a self-satisfied look on his face.

"So, couldn't take the pressure, huh, Gil?" he said smugly.

The room grew silent, eyes darting between me and him.

I turned then shrugged. "Not really, no," I answered.

Then I grinned.

Oh, that made his lips purse and those beady little eyes flared, attempting to bore a hole in me.

"I recommended against you returning, Grissom," he whispered harshly, a barely suppressed anger simmering beneath those words.

I leaned in towards him. "I figured you would," I whispered back then grinned again.

Well, that just pissed him off.

"You're an unstable individual, Grissom, and I will do whatever it takes to get you fired. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly." And now I was smiling. I couldn't help it. "Anything else?"

Softly growling, yes, growling, he stiff legged it out of the room and that just made me happier still. I even chuckled. When I turned back I was hit with worried looks. You know, the kind that shout 'I think there's something wrong with him and we should probably run away.' I sighed.

"Let me tell you the same thing I told Catherine. I need to feel my way back, slowly. If that means staying a Field Officer forever, so be it. All of you know I never liked the paperwork demons associated with being Supervisor and I wasn't that good at the job anyway. And all of us know that Catherine is much better at schmoozing than I am. Feel free to admit it now. It won't hurt my feelings."

My attempt at levity sat there like a blob. Then they began to nod, then shake my hand and simply accepted it.

It was sort of a letdown. I wanted to be able to tell them that if I've learned anything from all of this hoo-ha it's that my life is my own to change as I see fit. And just that one thing makes me feel more confident about all the other things that I might like to alter in some way or another. But then I figured they'd corner me at some point during shift and make sure I was 'okay'.

So, with assignments in hand, off they went leaving me behind with Sara who was grinning like mad. She thought she'd won the bet. That is until Catherine walked up.

"Sara, you really need to work on that shocked face. I didn't buy it for a minute. Gil, let me show you where you'll be working."

Tossing a triumphant look at her, I sauntered out. The only sound behind me was laughing.

CSICSICSI

Fortunately, I'd spent all of my first shift getting caught up on open cases files, organizing my new workspace (a large closet on the way to the bathroom – very convenient) and generally getting reacquainted with a place I know very well. It felt good. I even caught myself smiling a lot that first night and didn't bother to wonder why. So when the shift was over, I packed up, grabbed my jacket and was ready to head over to Mac's for a team breakfast, when I made the mistake of walking out to my car . . . through the front door.

"Dr. Grissom? How are you feeling?" Oh, boy.

"How does it feel to be back?" Great.

"I hear you're not the supervisor anymore?" How do these people find this stuff out?

"Aren't you afraid you're going to slip again?"

That last one made me stop as I tried to quietly get past them. Turning around, I spotted the young woman who'd shouted out the question.

"Would you repeat that please? Yes, you," I pointed, trying to remember her name and failing.

"Derry Benet from 8 News Now. Dr. Grissom, aren't you afraid that what happened to you before will happen again?"

Everyone fell silent, microphones and cellphones pointed in my direction waiting for me to . . . What? Come unglued? Unhinged? Un-something? Instead I smiled which caused a few raised eyebrows.

"No, I'm not afraid of that happening again."

"Why? Nothing has changed. You still don't have any extra help and you have the specter of your hearing in Los Angeles hanging over your head."

"But something _has_ changed, Ms. Benet," I said. "I've changed."

"How so?"

I chuckled then. Those brows rose higher. "I discovered that my work is not my life and that my life is mine to retake. I plan on doing that with great gusto."

That was not the answer she, or anyone else, was hoping to hear. Oh, well.

"But what about Ms. Sidle?" she added.

"What about her?" Here it comes.

"Well, she's the cause for . . ." She trailed off as I held up my hand.

"I hold no one responsible for my presence in the store except myself."

"But there has to be . . ."

"No, Ms. Benet, there doesn't. Too many times people blame others for their own faults because they can't face up to what they've done. In this case, it was all me. Fortunately, I recognized that I needed and had help and would like to thank those people if I may."

"Ah, okay," she stammered and my smile widened.

"Dr. Philip Kane for helping me understand that talking about things really does work. Sheriff Elam for allowing me the time to make my own way. My mom and good friend, Paul Jeffries, for rising to the occasion. Simon Remington and his family for believing in me. And, most of all, to Captain Jim Brass for taking care of things when I couldn't."

"You left out Ms. Sidle?" a man shouted off to the right. "Is there a reason for that?" Snottiness reigned in his tone. I kept my smile. Barely.

"No reason."

"There's always a reason, Dr. Grissom."

I narrowed my eyes, my smile wavering slightly. "Ms. Sidle is an exceptional CSI and a good friend. I hold no ill will toward her and neither should you. We were just two people on different wavelengths for a time."

"Does that mean you're getting back together? Wouldn't that be unwise?" the same man shouted.

I was really not liking him right then.

"Don, is it?" I asked and he nodded. "I suppose it would do me no good to inform you that any answer to that question is none of yours or anyone else's business. It would be like me asking if you plan on telling your wife you have a mistress. Would you answer such a question?"

All the color faded from Don's face. Hmm. Hit the nail on the head, did I? My smile was back.

When Don remained mute I turned back to everyone else. "Anything else because I'm late for breakfast with the team." I waited a moment. "Okay, then. Thank you for your time. And have a good day."

I turned, waved then walked off hoping I'd make it to the car before they caught me again. But no one followed. Glancing over my shoulder, I found out the reason - they were all shouting questions at Don. As I ducked into the car I figured he'd get me good at some point but I didn't really care.

I didn't.

That's been one of the best changes I've made – I don't care what the press thinks or says. In fact, I don't really care what anyone says save Mom, Paul, Jim, Simon and, of course, Sara. (I probably shouldn't leave out Catherine because, some way or another, she'll find out and I'll never hear the end of it.) And Catherine.

** Day ****2**

This was the day I experienced an 'oh' moment arrived at while walking with Paul in the park. As soon as I got home (they'd been pretty easy on me so I was actually getting off on time), we took Hank out to chase after his dog friends. Paul had been chattering on about our soon-to-be trip to the body farm, all excited about seeing dead bodies and bugs.

I'd been listening, really, but then I thought about the perfectly heated blueberry Pop Tarts Sara had made for me when I'd skipped lunch informing me this was not the homemade meal she'd promised, just an appetizer. Her giving me that explanation then smiling made me want to kiss her. I stared at her for a good 30 seconds before her waving hand registered. When I snapped out of it I still wanted to kiss her.

Not sure how I made it through that shift.

No, I didn't kiss her.

It would not have been appropriate at work.

And, officially, we aren't a couple . . . yet . . . just . . . not . . .

I told her I was gun shy and I am. It's not as painfully restricting an idea as it once was but I still need to feel my way, not only with the job but with Sara.

With me, actually.

The job is fun again; the conundrum that is evidence is intriguing. It seems I still truly love being a CSI especially now that I don't have to be in charge. (Although I'm sure Catherine isn't too keen on everyone coming to me with questions. I deflect back to her as often as I can.)

Sara is a convoluted section of my psyche that is slowly untangling. Little things like holding her hand in the restaurant, watching her from a distance or returning her smile are all adding up on the pro side of my 'should we get back together?' list. They sit on that side because a bit of happiness settles in my gut when they happen. So far the con side has only a few left. And I'm finding that I want the pro side to keep growing.

"Gil?"

Slowly, I looked up seeing Paul about ten steps ahead of me. My brow furrowed. I'd not only lost the conversation thread but forward movement as well.

"You all right?" he asked as he walked toward me.

What a loaded question. "Yeah?"

He smiled. "You've always been a deep thinker, Gil. I hope you don't zone out like this when you're driving," he quipped with a smile.

I grinned. "Not as often as you might think."

"Good." We started walking again. "So, you want to tell me what's caused this moment of deep thinking?"

"Sara." Why hide it? He'd wheedle it out of me anyway.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"So, are they good thoughts?"

My grin became a smile. "Yeah."

"Most excellent." I raised a brow at that. "I'm trying to be trendy."

I chuckled. "In answer to your question regarding my deep thinking," I began, "I'm finding that my worries are lessening when I think about moving forward with a certain female."

"Catherine? You're going after Catherine?" he exclaimed, a scared look on his face. But he couldn't keep up the act for long. In fact, he barely finished speaking before he started laughing.

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

He grabbed my arm. "It is, isn't it?" he asked between giggles. He wiped at his eyes. "She'd be a handful, that's for sure."

"Oh, she is," I answered as we again started walking.

"She told me about her former career."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. It's my face, you know," he said, completely serious. "There's something about it because wherever I go people tell me things whether I want to hear them or not."

"You listen," I said. "You've always been a good listener."

"That's true. And I don't judge. I may question, but never judge. That's one of the things I took away from being a minister."

"And I truly appreciated that," I stated as he turned a questioning look on me. "Because neither you nor Mom judged me, at least, vocally, I found my way back. I never would've made it if I'd stayed here."

"Jim was here. Catherine."

"And Sara." I shook my head. "The pressure was immense. I don't even like to think on what may have happened if I hadn't gone home."

We were silent for a moment, Hank barking up a storm as he ran toward us.

"We would've come here once we found out, you know," Paul said.

"You wouldn't have found out," I answered as Hank slid to a stop in front of me. Bending over I poured water in his bowl then rubbed his head.

"If you say so."

Boy, that was cryptic. I debated on whether to ask or just wait for him to spill since I was sure mom had her contacts. I always thought it was Jim but would never pry. She needs her secrets like everyone else. Or it could've just been her sixth sense. You know, that thing all mothers seem to have. Or it could've been the guilty look on my face because I never wanted to upset her by doing something stupid.

And yet wasn't that exactly what I'd done just a few months ago.

"I can hear you thinking," came Paul's voice.

I clipped on Hank's leash, emptying out what remained in his bowl. "I believe I have an award somewhere for the 'loudest thinker'."

"You still have that?" he asked.

Standing, I glanced at him. "I kept all of those things from you."

He looked amazed. "That's . . . well, that's just . . ." His eyes grew glassy. "You've tongue tied me, Gil. I don't know what to say."

I was surprised at his response. Could it be, after all these years, he didn't know? Well, now was my chance to fill him in.

"You've always been there, Paul. Always," I began. "You never backed away or told me you were too busy. You were always willing to listen, to offer your hand or your shoulder or anything I might need. I was so desperate for help after Dad died but afraid to ask. And I didn't have to because you stepped right up for both of us." I paused a moment then decided to just say it. "I've always thought of you as my second father, Paul. I've relied on that especially over these last months. You are very important to me. I thought you knew that."

He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "I do know that, Gil. I've always known that and I've been very grateful for your trust in me."

I couldn't help it. I hugged him. And he hugged me back.

It's one of the best feelings in the world when it comes from someone you love.

Hank's inquisitive whine broke up our 'love fest'. Wiping at our eyes, we chuckled away our embarrassment and headed back home, the words 'body farm' cropping up again with glee.

** Day ****3 to 2 weeks later**

This day, it . . .

Hmm.

Come to think of it nothing earth-shattering or people tiptoeing around me occurred on Day 3. The day began and ended like all those regular days (before I fell apart). Perhaps I should amend myself again and say _two_ days after I came back it was like I'd never been gone.

Oh, wait. There _was_ something. Sheriff Elam instigated a no, or lesser, overtime schedule for those CSI's who had a large amount of it on the books unless the case was a media monster. Of course, that meant that day and swing would be taking on more since nightshift had the most overtime. And since all of us hate to give up our cases to someone else, I'm pretty sure that won't work. But, as Mom often says, it's the thought that counts. I'd still like to know where that came from. Sara suggested it had something to do with my impromptu press conference where I thanked the Sheriff. All I know is that it pissed off Ecklie even more. We passed each other and he gave me the evil eye and I heard him grumbling all the way down the hall. I giggled for at least a half hour on and off over that one.

Now it's two weeks later and I've already worked overtime three days straight and am pleased to announce that I've not thought once about quitting. I've managed to do not one but three experiments (one of them helped close a case), organize my article writing schedule and moved Arthur into my new office. (He seems delighted.) The Kids love Catherine's gift of their own condo (I think Hank's jealous) and I'm considering doing some remodeling for them. When I mentioned this particular plan to Nick I was on the receiving end of great amusement at my own expense.

"You're crazy, man," Nick informed me as we walked through the Lab.

"Why?" I answered. "I think carving holes near the ceiling and putting up a pathway for the Kids would be great for them. They can move from room to room without having to touch the floor, finding new ways to leap upon unsuspecting visitors. They'll love it."

All he did was laugh and shake his head. That didn't sit well.

I pursed my mouth and looked straight ahead. "That was the same response I got from Catherine. Apparently, neither of you are cat people."

"Griss," he tried but all I gave him was a raised hand then marched into my office and shut the door.

He was very apologetic the rest of the shift and even came by later with plans he'd made. Very good plans, I might add.

He's coming over on Sunday.

In the meantime, I'm trying not to think about the day my house guests decide to go home 'cause I'm thinking it might be soon now that I'm back at work and happy. The Kids and Hank are going to miss them . . .

Who am I kidding? _I'm_ going to miss them.

It's been such a great comfort to have them here, to know if something were to tweak me a little sideways they'd be able to nip it in the bud and get me back on track. It's not that I sit around and worry that will happen but, since I know it can, there's a small part of me that's now hyper aware to the signs.

So to curtail such signs, I'm using my newly reawakened feelings of being useful and delighted and scheduled a rollercoaster trip for Greg and myself to thank him for his gracious gift. His little nervous tic that surfaces when we're working together is abating. He even smiled at me yesterday. I believe we've rounded the proverbial bend.

And I've just learned there's going to be a butterfly exhibit at the zoo next month. The last time I sat surrounded by butterflies I learned a great deal from Simon. This time I'm thinking of asking Sara.

I wonder if I'll learn more than I thought possible?

* * *

_The man seems happy. Is there anything that'll make him come apart at the seams or is that behind him for good? Will he, finally, deck Ecklie? Will Sara accept his invitation to the exhibit? And will Hank be able to relax if he thinks the Kids will unexpectedly drop on him from above?_

_The answers to these questions are ahead of us, or behind us if there's a time warp or something._

_Hope you enjoyed this part. Please leave a review. :-)_


	46. Chapter 46

_Howdy! It's been busy, busy in my neck of the woods and more busy to come. I've just started my next writing workshop and I have to prepare for the finale of CSI Forever Online's 2014 Fan Fiction Awards. (If you're a member and haven't nominated a story from the eligible list, please do. If you're not a member, hightail it over to the website and join. It's free.) Plug over. :-)_

_I had a bit of trouble with this part. Since we're heading down the homestretch (or have just made the turn onto the homestretch) I feel the need to tie up loose ends, reference back to things that have already occurred to see if they've been addressed or soon will be and try to get everyone's feelings in before the end. I had a bit of trouble with Annie in this one because my first draft was just bad. I couldn't capture her voice. So a bunch of staring, rewriting and leaving it alone produced what we have here. I feel I got her voice back. (It's okay to let me know if I didn't.)_

_I would like to thank those who are still here: Sarafly, stlouiegal, SarahmUK, was spratlurid quimby, CSIflea, SevernSound, mbonthecorner, Torcan and Nancy1. You guys are the best._

_Onward ~_

* * *

**Part 45 – 2 weeks later**

**Annie**

I'm feeling a little melancholy.

In two days Paul and I will be going home.

While it will be nice to see my house and my friends and throw out all my dead houseplants and air out the place that I'm sure will smell to high heaven . . . I really don't want to go.

I could say it's because I like being here in Vegas. It's like an extended vacation with free room and board (although Paul and I help pay for food and we are saving Gil money on the dog sitter).

I could say it's because we've actually won enough money at the casinos to pay for our rented car and any hotel expenses we may incur on the way home. (Once home we'll still have enough left over to start saving for another trip to Vegas in the near future.)

Or I could just be honest and say I really like taking care of my boy.

Growing up without a father, Gil was determined to take care of not only himself but me, as well, and rarely let me indulge in mothering him. But these last months . . . Hard as they were for him, hard as it was for _me_ to see him suffer, it's made me realize how much I _like_ mothering him. (Oh, he'd roll his eyes at that.)

I can't help it. I'M A MOTHER. IT'S WHAT I DO.

I can laugh now, now that the memory of him clinging to me in the driveway and crying in my arms has lost its fiery edge. Those were bad times that the both of us don't wish to ever see again. And while I'll always worry about him, I know he's learned a great deal from all this turmoil, the most important being he has many friends who would do anything for him. I take great comfort in that. I won't always be here. Neither will Paul. But I know Catherine and Jim will be. And one other person as well.

Sara.

He smiled more when she was around, seemed more relaxed and I thanked whomever was listening for bringing such a woman into his life. And when she left and he tumbled down that dark hole, I worried so much for him. I could see him wandering off into some jungle or shutting himself away and never coming back. I couldn't lose him that way. So I did the only thing I could. I sent him fishing. Who knew that would change his life. He tells me it was cathartic. Of course he said the same thing about punching the wall. Go figure.

Which brings me back to Sara.

We've had many talks since I've been here, Gil and I, about love and relationships. I know Paul has managed a few as well and I've noticed a confidence returning to him. He's still cautious but not hamstrung and her name's been coming up more since he's gone back to work. (I don't bring that up. Then he'd overanalyze it and that's not good. He's a dweller. Just like his father.) No, he's finding his way, slowly but surely.

Some people might yell 'get off the stick!' but that's not my boy. He's very deliberate. It took him nearly all of his last semester in high school to decide which college he wanted to attend while I fielded call after call from whimpering deans and recruiters begging me to push their school. Teachers whined at me about the amount of time it was taking to decide and, while I wanted to use my deafness as an out for these conversations, I instead told them to back off. 'When he decided, he'd decide', I said and was hit with a couple of 'horrible mother who didn't care about her son's education' comments. Those people still walk funny to this day.

It could also be the sessions with Philip or his new position at work. I'm thinking it's a 50/50 split between them. Gil seems to finally get that, if he wants it, he has the upper hand where Sara's concerned. His work? Well, I can see the joy of it returning. Every morning he comes home with a DB (lingo, yeah!) story of the night and the circumstances that robbed the poor person of breath. (Being that I still clearly remember walking in on him autopsying a bird when he was seven, talking about dead people doesn't faze me.)

Then there's Paul. Well, he just sucks up every bit of information Gil spits out and demands more, thus awakening the teacher that lives in my boy. And when they use Hank as the DB and the Kids as the bloodthirsty crowd that rings the scene, I have to take photos when I'm not participating as the grieving wife or irascible reporter.

And I shouldn't forget the card games, board games, binge watching movies and TV shows, sightseeing, working with his old team, walking Hank, playing with the Kids, yadda-yadda-yadda. All these things he's participating in have led me to be okay with going home because I know now he'll call if he needs something.

So that's what's been filling my head as I sit here next to Paul on the couch watching Gil nervously pace between the kitchen and the front window. The Kids got bored with it all, leaped up onto their new walkway and disappeared into the other room. Hank _had _been following him from window to kitchen and back again but was now sitting next to the couch with a very puzzled look on his face.

"Sit down, Honey," I say. "The Duke's about to save his platoon."

He turns from the window and plunks down in a chair eyes staring at the TV but, I'm pretty sure John Wayne isn't showing up on his eyeballs.

Paul nudges me. "You're boy's nervous, Annie," he says and I nod.

"Don't know why," I answer. "It's not like it's a hot date or anything. It's just brunch."

Paul smiles. "I'd hate to see what he'd do if it was dinner. Getting all dressed up. Changing his tie a dozen times."

"And his jacket," I add. "Once he changed his jacket five times before ending up with the first one he had on."

"What was the occasion?"

"School photos. You know. That one where he decided to part his hair."

"I never liked that photo," Paul said with a shake of his head. "I thought he'd joined the barbershop quartet. Couldn't see how since he couldn't carry a tune."

We both giggle and Gil turns a smirk on us.

"You two think you're so funny don't you?" he says.

"We do," we say simultaneously then break out laughing.

Then the doorbell rings and our laughter stops dead.

After a moment's hesitation on all our parts, Paul points toward the door and urges Gil on. There was a deer in the headlights look for a moment then he jumps to his feet, wipes his hands on his pants and heads toward the door. I cross my fingers, hold my breath and hope this was a good idea.

**Sara**

I did it. I rang the bell. (Well, Jim made me do it.) And now I'm trying not to hyperventilate.

"Take a deep breath, Sara. Let it out slowly," Jim says to me and I comply.

"I'm just a little nervous," I admit and he grins.

"I can almost guarantee that the illustrious Dr. Grissom is in the same boat."

"You didn't see him at breakfast the other day. Nervous he wasn't."

"Oh?" he says with a raise of the eyebrows. I try not to smile but can't seem to stop myself. "Well, well, well."

He waggles his eyebrows and I giggle which is cut off in my throat as the door swoops open and those glorious blue eyes settle on mine.

"Hi," I squeak, cringing inside at the high pitched sound.

"Hi," he answers glancing down at a seriously happy dog trying to push past him. "Hank, sit," he orders, waiting for him to comply before looking back up at me. Slowly, a smile forms across his lips. "I'm glad you came."

Before I can answer, Jim leans over my shoulder. "Thanks," he says causing Gil to quickly pull his eyes from mine to focus on him. He blushes and that just shoots straight to my heart.

"Come in," he finally says stepping back to let us in, a squirming Hank back on all fours trying to get my attention.

"I see you," I say as I make it inside then lean over to pet the boy.

"Hold onto your shorts, Sara," comes at me from Paul.

Before I can even look at him, the Kids are barreling toward me, slipping between Hank's legs to wrap themselves about mine.

I giggle again and look up at Gil. And it's there, that, that look that I've never been able to explain in one precise word. Awestruck, grateful, treasured all pale next to what it does to me. It's that moment he lets his guard down so completely, when whatever he's feeling can be seen by the world. I won't hazard a guess about what he's thinking but it suddenly reminds me of the day Gil and I became a threesome.

He'd not been feeling well but wouldn't go home until Catherine forced him to leave. He'd then texted me not to come over, afraid I might get whatever he had. I couldn't help but reply 'we shared spit last night so it's probably too late'. All I wanted was to make him chicken soup, fill him full of Nyquil and snuggle.

But I had a stop to make first.

By 10:30am my mission was complete and I hurried over to his house, taking out my pilfered key (from his desk) and quietly making my way inside, stopping not two paces in when I saw his huddled form on the couch. Hearing a scream of pain coming from the TV, I peered over watching a man yank a raccoon off his member then run into the woods. What the . . . Squinting, I saw '1000 Ways to Die Marathon' flashing in the corner of the screen. Gil loved that show. He never missed it. And now, when a raccoon was running off with his prize, he lay curled up on the couch, a pile of used Kleenex half in and half out of the trashcan, a can of Ginger Ale and a sleeve of crackers scattered on the coffee table, sound asleep.

He looked pitiful. And all I wanted to do was wrap my arms about him and hold him tight. But the moving box I was holding had other ideas.

"Ssh," I hissed as a whine erupted glancing quickly toward Gil as he moved.

"Sara?" came his sleep ridden voice.

"Yeah, it's me." I watched as he rubbed at his eyes then started to sit up. "No, no, stay where you are."

"Gotta sit up," he mumbled making it into a kinda sorta form of upright. You know, his head was up but the rest of him was kind of leaning.

He let out a long breath, blinked a few times then turned a half smile on me. "What's in the box?" he asked, yawning then running a hand through his messy hair.

"Um, well."

Now, true we'd discussed this, discussed this ad infinitum and I remembered us coming to some form of agreement. But now when he was looking at me with glassy eyes I wondered if, perhaps, this was a good idea.

Of course, right then is when the box made another noise.

Gil perked up, his kinda sorta upright form shifting closer to the real thing. And the look on his face? It was like a kid on Christmas morning. I decided then _this _was a great idea.

"I had a girlfriend once who told me a story," I began as I placed the box on the floor then knelt down. "She said that any time she was sick, her dad would bring her a stuffed animal. When she caught pneumonia she thought she'd hit pay dirt with the biggest lion anyone had ever seen."

"Did you get me a lion cub?" he asked sincerely as the box sounded again.

I chuckled. "No."

"A Furbie?"

"No," I said with a laugh.

Grabbing a Kleenex, he blew his nose. "Kate Beckinsale?" That innocent look he flashed me made me purse my lips and narrow my eyes. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did but I forgive you. Obviously, you have a fever." He looked contrite so I let him off the hook. "No, Kate Beckinsale is not in this box. Now, close your eyes."

"I might go back to sleep," he whined, eyes quickly shutting.

"I doubt you will," I stated popping open the top of the box and wrapping my hands about the contents. "You're way too curious." Walking over, I readied myself. "Here goes," I said placing my wiggling package against his chest, his arms automatically moving up to embrace it.

His eyes popped open and zeroed in on the mewling puppy now staring up at him. Gil stared right back, the two of them seemingly sizing each other up. Silence ensued.

"Happy almost birthday!" I said with glee (forced a bit because I was wondering if I'd just made a huge mistake).

And that's when the puppy yawned then promptly sneezed in Gil's face.

The laugh started low in his throat and then bubbled out of him ending in a thick cough that subsided once the puppy began licking his face.

He'd still not said anything so, hesitantly, I sat on the coffee table, nervous hands running along my pants anxiously waiting for anything. And then he did something that I've seen him do many times since. He picked the puppy up, kissed him on the nose and held him close to his chest, a big smile lighting up his face before he turned his gaze on me.

"He's the one, isn't he?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"But that was over a month ago," he said, chuckling when the puppy started nibbling on his fingers.

"I called the Stuart's the day after we left and asked them to hold him for us. I was planning on picking him up next week but . . .," I trailed off, fiddling with my fingers and biting the bottom of my lip, " . . . I know how you hate to be sick and since this is a 3 day weekend for us, I wanted to get you something to make you feel better."

He smiled then and accepted more kisses from the puppy. "This is better than a Furbie," he said.

"And what about Kate Beckinsale?" I asked with smirk.

"You are just so cute," he cooed to the puppy, ignoring my question. "Thank you, Sara."

And that's when he hit me with that look. I had a hard time breathing for a moment and, when he took my hand and pulled me onto the couch, I had another reason for finding it hard to breathe. But the kiss didn't last long. Gil started coughing and a long, sloppy dog tongue swept itself across both our faces leaving us dripping.

We spent the rest of the afternoon oohing and awing over our new addition and I made chicken soup, stuffed Gil full of Nyquil and snuggled up with him, the memory of that look sticking with me through the entire weekend and beyond.

"Ah, Sara," filters through my musings and I glance over at Jim. "Are we going to stand here at the door all day?"

I blink and he grins. "Oh, oh, sorry." I'm blushing. Gahk. Moving a few more steps inside, I hand Gil the small yellow bag I'd brought.

"What's this?" he asks as he takes it from me.

"Something for you," I answer with a grin.

"And this is for the rest of us," Jim says thrusting a bottle of wine toward him.

Gil shakes his head slightly as he grabs the bottle. "Neither of you had to bring anything."

"It's called manners, Gil," Jim answers as he walks past him and shakes Paul's hand then leans in to give Annie a peck on the cheek.

"Thanks for inviting me," I say to Gil as we stare at each other.

"Don't thank him," Paul quickly interjects as he comes toward me, pulling me into a bear hug. "It was our idea," he claims pointing at himself and Annie who's also coming toward me.

"Sara, I'm so glad you could come."

"I miss you already," comes out of my mouth. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. Oh, well. I'm taking the hug she's offering. She's been so good to me, for me, and I don't really want her to go. She pulls back and smiles at me.

"That means a lot, Sara."

Damn. I'm tearing up. I hate it when I do that. I feel like I've known these people my whole life. I hope I always will.

"Wine anyone?" Gil asks and we all look at him, forgetting he was in the room. (Well, not really.)

A chorus of 'yeses' greet him and he heads off to the kitchen, Hank debating whether or not he should stay with me or go after his dad. For some reason, he chooses me and that makes me happy for some indefinable reason.

"When are you leaving?" Jim asks as I shuffle over to the couch and take a seat next to him, pulling the Kids from my legs and moving them into my lap.

"Wednesday," Paul answers. "I'm pretty sure my milk's gone bad."

I bark out a laugh then jump when Gil appears holding out a glass of wine to me. I smile up at him as I take it, my fingers brushing against his. It seems to take him a bit too back away but it could just be my imagination. Soon everyone has a glass and he sits in the overstuffed chair to my left, holding his up. All of us do the same.

"To a safe trip home," he toasts.

We all repeat the sentiment and take a drink. I watch him look down then run a thumb across the corner of his mouth. He sort of smiles at me when he looks up to catch me staring at him. I should look away but don't.

"So," Jim begins, "are you guys going to rush back home?"

"Nope," Annie says with a grin. "We're going to sightsee."

I giggle as Paul rolls his eyes.

"I'm thinking a lot of gift shops and antique stores," Paul faux whispers to me as Gil signs to Annie.

"Don't let him fool you," Annie says to me. "My friend, Paul, here is an avid collector of fishermen memorabilia. Anything dressed in a yellow slicker, be it human or animal, seems to make it home with him."

I grin when Gil chuckles.

"I'll have you know that the fisherman pig was a gift _from_ Annie," he says giving her a pointed look.

"Which is displayed prominently near the front door so it's the first thing you see," she answers.

She's grinning and I laugh. These two people share so much - history, friendship and maybe even love.

I wonder what Gil would think of that.

**Grissom**

Sara brought me chocolate chip cookies. Homemade. My favorite.

I didn't have to open the bag to know. I could smell them and with the smell came vibrant memories of lazy afternoons, long walks and kisses that . . .

Now is not the time for such thoughts. I have guests!

My cynical side calls the cookies a BRIBE (capital letters intended). My hopeful side reminds me SHE REMEMBERS THAT I LOVE THESE THINGS! (Capitals and exclamation point intended.) And my heart? Well, it beats a little faster proving the staples I've been using to put it back together appear to be holding.

When Mom and Paul informed me they'd picked a date to go home, I wanted to do something for them, whatever it was, money was no object. When they told me all they really wanted was to have brunch at home with Jim, Sara and me, my mouth dropped open. It was Paul's phrase of 'catching flies' that brought me back to reality and the words 'no way' were the first ones that popped into my head.

Sara.

In my house.

In the house we almost shared.

The house where the throw on the couch is the same one she bought last year, the plants are in the same places we'd put them, her stuff, bits of it stuck here and there, not moved. I'd not thought of boxing everything up and sending it to her or moving it to the spare room. It was part of the landscape, part of me.

And there was my answer. It was all part of me now. Like a favorite sweatshirt, my space was cozy and warm. Did that feeling scare me? Not as much as it would've a few months ago. Did that knowledge weird me out? (I've been spending too much time with Greg.) A little but not to the point of inaction.

So my 'no way' turned into 'okay'. A slightly hesitant okay but, well, how could I really say no to them? They gave me back my life. Anything they wanted, if it was in my power to give, I would.

And now she's here, Sara, on my couch, carrying on a conversation with the people I care most about and I'm startled to recognize that my nerves have eased and I'm starting to relax. Of course, my brain can't just let that go and a big WHY pops into my head.

I could say that mom, Paul and Jim are buffers, allowing me space to take it all in. Or it could be the wine but I've only had a sip or two. Or maybe it's how the Kids attached themselves to Sara's legs. They only do that to people they like. They've already done it to Jim, Catherine, Greg and Nick when they came over. (Empirical evidence provides me with substance for this theory since they stayed well away from the cable guy who came by a few weeks ago. A smarmy fellow, I was told, whose description made me think of Nigel Crane. Hank was on guard the entire time he was here. I did check the crawl space after I heard the story. It was all clear.)

Or it could simply be I was always comfortable when she was here.

That seems so long ago that we woke up together, cooked together, watched movies together on the same couch she's now sitting. I missed that. Even after everything.

And now she's laughing at some story Paul's relating, the Kids are batting at Jim's wiggly fingers while still curled up in her lap and Hank is drooling by her side. It's like . . . Dare I say it? It's like what I'd always hoped it would be – my little family sharing an afternoon.

Hmm. Nothing happened as that thought flitted through my head.

I thought I'd be hiding under the bed by now. But I'm not.

Surprises me, too.

I smile.

"Gil?"

Blinking at the sound of her voice I realize I'd been staring at her while my mind wandered. "Ah, yeah?"

"You okay?" she asks. "You have a goofy look."

My eyes shift between mom, Paul and Jim (even the Kids and Hank are staring at me) then settle back on Sara. My smile grows a bit. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You sound surprised," Jim says.

I fiddle with the rim of my wine glass then place it on the coffee table. "I am."

"Why?" Mom asks.

I think about shrugging but don't. I know why.

"A few months ago I never expected to end up here," I admit with a half-smile as I sign for mom.

I flick a quick glance at Sara then away before running a hand over my chin. I'm not sure what I'm about to say but feel the need to say something.

"I guess . . .. I never truly understood the power of friendship. Most of my early life was taking care of mom and trying to learn all I could. Friends," I sign, "were too much effort." I catch a nod from mom. "But here, in Vegas, well, it's been different. The people around me, my co-workers," I say with a slight shrug, "I found a kinship more so than any other place I've worked. I discovered what all of them meant to me when Nick was taken. And when, when Sara left . . ." I falter a bit but move on. "When that happened I shut down so much I forgot that Catherine was here and Jim, two people I care very much for yet couldn't or wouldn't let them help. Too stubborn."

"Just like his father," mom whispers to Jim making me grin.

"Oh, you don't have to tell me that," he states. "I've witnessed it firsthand."

"As have we all," Paul adds and I chuckle.

They're ganging up on me and I don't mind in the slightest.

"And that's something I find amazing," I continue, "that, even though all of you have seen me at my worst, you're still here, you're still willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, reach out and offer whatever you can. And I thank you all for that. You'll never know how much."

And they won't know how much because I can't verbalize how deep my love for each of them goes. And that includes Sara. Through all of this I never really stopped loving her, even when I didn't trust her.

Well, that's . . .. That would imply that I trust her now. Or is it that I trust myself to not let myself fall apart again.

"That's what friends do, Gil," Jim says catching my attention. "Do I have to tattoo that on your brain for you to understand that?"

"Probably," I admit with a laugh then look him straight in the eyes. "You held me up, Jim, kept me together when all I wanted to do was close my eyes and wish myself away. I never would've made it through that hearing without you." I hold up a hand to stop him as he opens his mouth. "When you walked onto that plane with me, sat there and asked about peanuts . . ." I shake my head and clench my jaw.

"I really like airplane peanuts," he quips and I shake my head.

"They _are_ good, aren't they?" Paul chimes in. "It must be the altitude that makes their staleness alluring."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Boys," Mom said. "Let Gil talk." They close their mouths and she points at me to continue.

"I just want you guys to know what you mean to me. All of you," I finish, my gaze drifting over to Sara.

I debate with myself on whether I should say something directly to her. It seems a bit cowardly to just lump her in with the superheroes sitting around her but I'm not ready to make the leap. Not yet.

Soon.

She does blush slightly then takes a deep breath which ends in a grin. I take that as a good sign.

Reaching down, I pick up my glass and raise it again.

"To good friends and better times ahead."

"Here, here," everyone chimes in just as the timer goes off in the kitchen.

"Brunch time!" Paul calls out, jumping out of his chair and hustling into the kitchen.

"I think he's hungry," Jim states.

"It's his own recipe," I let him know.

"Have you tried it?" he asks, a bit of worry in his words.

"Oh, yes. It's absolutely divine. Have no fear."

"Well, okay."

Jim doesn't seem convinced. He will be.

"Hey, what's in this yellow bag!" drifts out from the kitchen.

It takes just a second for me to realize what Paul's talking about and I leap out of my chair. "Mine, mine, mine!" I exclaim as I hurry into the kitchen hearing Sara's snort behind me.

He's grinning like a fool as I snatch the bag from his hand.

"Gotcha," he says.

I purse my lips and look annoyed. It doesn't last as we both start laughing.

* * *

_1000 Ways to Die is an actual show. The incident Sara describes was an episode I saw.  
Nyquil is a cold medicine in the states.  
_

* * *

_All righty then. We have Annie and Paul leaving. The Kids and Hank have made it known that Sara is okay in their book. And Grissom has figured out a few things about himself. I'm thinking there might be a proper date coming up now that he's tackled a brunch. Of course, who knows what might happen on said date. Get your minds out of the gutter! I was thinking of a flat tire or missing reservations. You guys are bad! I love it!  
_

_See you next time . . . . . . :-)_


	47. Chapter 47

_Howdy! It's been a while but I've been busier than a cat covering . . . well, you know. Currently getting ready to start my next workshop (Tuesday) and must have 3500 words written before then (so I don't run out of material). I've gotta hop to but I'm pretty sure I'll make it.  
_

_I hope everyone's been just dandy. Thanks to the following people/reviewers: Sidle77 (just for being a pal), Onthecorner, Torcan (thanks!), stlouiegal, CSIflea, Sarafly, SarahmUK and, of course, Nancy1. You guys are the best!  
_

_Now, without further ado, onward ~_

* * *

**Part 46**

**Brass – 8 days later**

It's 8:00am.

I've had a tough 8 hour shift complete with one drunk and disorderly (took a swing at me, missed and fell over), three disturbing the peace (there was a bat, a broken bottle and a pointed finger), a theft (33 cases of light bulbs which the perp claimed he was going to use to make a stargate, whatever that is), one DB in the Golden Nugget (dropped dead of a heart attack when he won $150,000 – unfortunate timing) and another DB covered in some alien goo found in an alley off Steward. Gil is ecstatic.

Suffice it to say I'm tired and hungry and really don't want to deal with whatever is on Ecklie's mind right now. But he's frothing at the mouth over something and heading straight for me. A quick glance to the left then right shows me no avenue of escape so I suck it up and keep walking. Maybe I'm just imagining that he's glaring at me and not at the unfortunate whoever that might be behind me.

"Brass," he says as I walk past.

Damn, it _is_ me.

"Conrad," I say in a very well-practiced 'who gives a shit' voice . . . and don't stop.

"Captain Brass!"

Crap.

Stopping, I slowly turn and give him my innocent look. It's a really good look. I picked it up from Gil and a number of perps I've come across in my oh so many years of public service.

"Yes?" I ask pleasantly. At least, pleasant for me.

He thumps back toward me. "Where's Grissom?"

My brows rise. "He's doing his CSI thing over on Steward. Why?"

"He missed an urgent meeting with the Sheriff and is ignoring my calls."

I'd ignore your calls, too, you rat bastard. "Okay."

"And he has a visitor here that's disrupting the flow of business."

Before I can ask who it is . . .

"JAWS!"

Whipping around at that familiar voice, I can't help but smile. "Squirt!" I call out.

A giggling Simon flings himself at me, clunking me with the bright pink cast he has on his wrist. Hugging me tightly, I return the favor, then pull him away, palming his hand in mine.

"And what's this?"

"I broke it," he says with a shrug. "Tripped over Hairy's leash. It wasn't his fault. I just got all tangled up."

"Yeah, that happens," I say with a knowing nod. "Broke my finger that way once. I was taking down the flag at school, a wind whipped up and next thing I knew the flag was wrapped around me and the rope around my finger. Hurt like the dickens."

"Yeah, mine, too, but I got a malt out of it."

Little Gil. He's just like little Gil Grissom.

"And a lecture about being careful," came a new voice making me look up.

"Clara," I say as she nears accepting her quick kiss to my cheek.

"It's so good to see you again, Jim," she says then glances over to Ecklie who's cleared his throat, loudly.

"Ah, Clara Remington, this is Conrad Ecklie," I introduce.

"_Assistant Director_ Ecklie, Ms. Remington," he corrects with great emphasis on his title, holding out his hand for her to shake.

I'd recommend against it. No telling where that hand has been. Up somebody's ass no doubt. But, since Clara is polite and good natured, she takes it. Although there's a look in her eye, a gleam is a more descriptive word. It's the same one I saw when she went after Enos Bent. I don't even feel compelled to warn him.

"That's _Mrs._ Remington," she says instead and I have to clamp my teeth together so I don't laugh out loud.

"My apologies," Ecklie has the grace to say then looks down toward Simon. "And who is this?"

Smarmy. That's the word for him.

"This is my son, Simon," Clara responds.

"How do you do?" Ecklie says and holds out his hand again. Simon just stares at it then looks up toward Clara.

"Go ahead," she whispers, nudging him a little.

Hey, I don't blame you kid. No telling . . . yeah, whatever.

Slowly, he offers up his hand. Ecklie shakes it once and Simon pulls back quickly, leaning in closer to his mother.

"He's a bit shy," she offers and now I'm biting my tongue to keep quiet.

"Of course. Well," Ecklie tries to recover, "I hope reception didn't let you just walk in here." Smooth. And I mean that sarcastically.

"Oh, no," she explains. "We sort of got away from Nick."

"I'm here!" comes his loud call as he trots around the corner, eyes falling on Ecklie who is giving him a hard look.

"He's been very kind," Clara quickly adds.

Nick blushes then gives her that big Texas smile of his. "Well, what would Grissom say if we didn't take good care of you two?"

"He'd probably punch you," I add just for fun, Nick nodding in agreement.

Now Ecklie's eyeing me and I can see the wheels turning. Married lady with a kid who's looking for Gil.

"And how do you know Grissom?" Ecklie asks overly polite.

Hello? You were the one threatening Gil's job if he didn't come home from California because he was HELPING THE REMININGTONS.

"He provided a great service to my family," Clara begins. "It's a debt we'll never be able to repay."

He starts to sneer then thinks better of it when Clara narrows her eyes at him. Nick's eyes dart from one to the other but he remains mum. Then I see the proverbial light bulb spring to life as who she is finally dawns on Ecklie.

"Oh, you're the family whose daughter . . ."

"Yes," she answers cutting him off with a pointed look.

And the light bulb just blew up.

"Um . . ." intelligently comes out of his mouth.

At least he realizes his error and stops before a shit storm falls out of his mouth. Probably running a very bad press conference through his head as Clara rakes him over the coals.

"How can we help you?" he says instead, the smarminess back.

"You can't," she answers, then hurriedly backtracks as his smile falters a bit. "What I mean is we're waiting for Dr. Grissom. We're a little early but Simon just couldn't wait another hour to come see him. Ms. Willows said it would be all right to come back here to wait in his office once Nick has finished showing us around. I hope that's all right."

She smiles then, a big, bright smile that dazzles me and, apparently, Ecklie too. Who knew?

"Of course, yes. As long as you're escorted you may look at whatever you like."

He smiles again. That just makes me shiver and not in a good way.

"Can we go to the morgue?" Simon pipes up.

Ecklie's eyes bug out and he coughs a little. Nick saves him. I've got to teach him to keep quiet when Ecklie's about to hang himself.

"I'll check with Doc Robbins to see what's going on. Jim, will you look after my charges for a bit?"

"It would be my pleasure." I grin at Clara then give Ecklie a 'go away' look. He actually gets the message.

"Well, I've got to run. It was very nice meeting you, Mrs. Remington, Simon."

"Thank you," she says. She's way too polite to this crumb.

"Brass, please let Grissom know I need to speak with him."

"Sure thing." Yeah, right.

I feel a tug on my pants and look down to see Simon curling his finger at me. I lean over.

"He's creepy," he whispers and I let myself laugh this time.

"I know."

He smiles and it's like a ray of sunshine.

"Hey," Nick says as he struts up the corridor catching our attention. "Doc Robbins says he can't wait to meet you both."

"There won't be any bodies or anything, will there?" Clara quietly asks.

"No, ma'am. At least, none that you'll be able to see." She smiles her thanks.

"Jim, you coming with us?" Simon asks.

"I'll catch up. I just have to make a call."

"'kay."

He heads off with Clara, peppering Nick with all sorts of questions and I feel much better than I did a few moments ago. Simon has a way of doing that with everyone. Well, obviously not Ecklie. That's not a surprise.

"Captain." I look up and see Mitch motioning toward me. "You forgot to sign Keith's birthday card."

Oh, and I left his gift in my desk. Gil can wait a few minutes.

**Grissom**

Ecklie.

I think that name has been permanently seared into my phone screen.

Seven times he's called me since I've been here. Seven.

The record is nine. I didn't answer him then either.

Yes, I'm not answering him. And why? Because I'm on a scene with a body covered in green slimy sticky goo trying to figure out what killed him or, at least, what this stuff is.

I'm also not answering because I don't really want to hear him tell me how he's going to get rid of me, in the job sense not the living sense . . . At least, I hope in the job sense. Whatever. If I don't pick up he stops me in the halls asking why I came in early or left late, that I made a spelling error in a report or that I should not leave my experiments in the break room sink. It was my coffee cup. I forgot to wash it out. I keep my experiments in my office since I've been banned from using the big fridge in the break room. Hmm. He's got a mini-fridge. I wonder if I could . . .

I sigh. It's only been eight days since mom and Paul went home. I miss them. Hank and the Kids miss them. The four of us sit on the couch when I get home and mope. I've already gone through all the extra food they left me and I'm back to fending for myself. Poor me. Fortunately, these last three days have been long ones. I come home, eat standing up in the kitchen and go to bed. It keeps me from thinking about how empty and quiet the house is and pushes me toward getting off my ass in regard to the butterfly exhibit.

Yeah.

Confident as I've become thoughts of spending a few hours together with Sara (not at work) makes my insides bubble. Fortunately, there's Skype and two willing people on the other end to keep me moving forward. Even Catherine dropped the leaflet for the exhibit on my desk the other day, smiled and left. The bright neon green sticky note on the front said 'don't forget to invite Sara' which made me chuckle.

Good friends. You can't have too many.

I jump a bit as my phone vibrates. What does Ecklie want now? I'm W-O-R-K-I-N-G!

Oh, it's Sheriff Elam.

"Grissom," I quickly answer.

"_Gil, I'm guessing you're knee deep in something disgusting and completely forgot our meeting."_

Shit.

"I'm so sorry. Yes, in fact I am in the middle of collecting an interesting slimy substance off a body on Steward."

He chuckles._ "You sound thrilled."_

"I've never seen anything like this outside of the Slime you buy in a toy store."

He laughs and I puzzle. He's been so nice to me since I came back. Maybe Sara was right. All these years I've been bad mouthing the sheriffs and all I had to do was thank them, publicly, and voila! laughs.

"May I ask what this meeting is about?" I say, wanting and not wanting to know at the same time. Call me fickle. The meeting request came out of the blue so I'm guessing it's either Ecklie related or ….

"_I received a call from Dayton Stint over in Utah requesting your services."_

Crap.

"He shouldn't have called you. I told him I have a job."

"_I know," _came the answer. I could practically see his smile. My brow furrowed._ "He was the fifth call I've received in the last three days and the 13__th__ since the day you came back."_

Oh, boy. "Ah …."

He laughs then._ "Don't worry about it, Gil. It seems your doings in Los Angeles have been noticed."_

Conway!

Oh, wait. I suppose the press conference could've done that.

"_Don't fret. We'll talk about it when you come in and, if I miss you today, we'll try again tomorrow. This is not a big deal."_

"I can be back in 15."

"_Then I'll push off my boring meeting an hour. See you when you get here."_

My brow rises. "Okay. Thanks."

I distinctly hear him chuckling as he hangs up. I stare at the phone for a moment, shake my head, then tuck it away and return my attention to the body. Unless the slime is poisonous, I can't see any visible cause of death. A conundrum. My favorite.

"Okay, David, you can take him." And my phone's ringing again. I sigh and drag it off my hip, this time taking a moment to look at who's bothering me now. Sara. "I'm sorry but I'm going to miss breakfast," I answer quickly hoping she's not been sitting in the office waiting for me. "The Sheriff wants to see me."

_ "Ah oh. Been a bad boy again?"_

I grin. "Not lately but the way Ecklie's riding my ass that may all change."

She giggles._ "Well, _I_ called because we're stuck behind an accident. Looks like an hour or more for me unless I threaten to throw up in Greg's car then we might make it back in five."_

_ "Don't you dare throw up in my car!" _I hear in the background as she laughs.

"Let me talk to Greg."

_ "He wants to talk to you," _I hear.

_ "Me? Ah, h__ello?"_

"Hi, Greg. Don't let her worry you. She hates to throw up and would never do it intentionally. So your car is safe."

_ "Oh, man, thanks! I just had it cleaned."_

"Just drive carefully."

_ "Yessir."_

_ "What did you say to him?" _she asks and I grin as I start packing up my gear.

"To get you back to me in one piece, preferably without puking all over yourself." Before she can answer my phone beeps and I look quickly at the screen. "I've got to go. Jim's calling me."

_ "Okay, I'll see you when we get there."_

"I'll be waiting." A push of a button then, "Hey, Jim. Is Ecklie throwing things yet?"

_ "Aside from glares and dirty looks and few choice words, no. But I haven't left yet so he has time. Hey, when are you coming back?"_

"On my way now," I say as I heft up my kit and head to the car. "Why?"

_ "Ecklie wanted me to remind you about the Sheriff."_

"Already spoke to him. I'll see him as soon as I hit the doors."

_ "Works for me."_

"Toadie," I mutter then smile at his harsh intake of breath.

_ "Well," _he exclaims._ "And to think I was going to tell you something else and now I'm not."_

"Ah, come on, Jim."

_ "Too late. You'll have to find out for yourself when you get here. Gotta go. Bye."_

Hmm. I either really ticked him off or he's just playing with me. I prefer to think of it as the latter. Now I can drive myself crazy trying to figure out what he was going to tell me.

CSICSICSI

Clearing the front doors of the police department, I immediately head for Sheriff Elam's office catching sight of him walking with Ecklie down the hall. Before I can call out someone else does.

"Uncle Gil!" comes at me from behind.

My brows rise in surprise and I turn, an instant smile overtaking my face as I kneel down. "Simon!"

He bolts toward me and nearly knocks me over, my arms wrapping about him to hold on tightly. The joy he brings each time I see him brightens my world so.

I let him go and push him back a little. "My goodness. You've grown a foot since I last saw you."

"Nah," he says. "I still only have two." Then he laughs and so do I.

"And what's this?" I frown holding onto his casted arm, liking the color he chose. "You didn't punch anything did you?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. "No," he whispers back. "I was a klutz." He grins and I smile. "Dad said not to worry 'cause he was a klutz when he was a kid, too."

I chuckle. "I'll let you in on a little secret," I say, leaning in close. "So was I."

He giggles and the prospect of dealing with Ecklie doesn't bother me so much now.

"And who is this?" Elam asks as he comes to a stop a few steps away. I glance up at his smiling face then stand. "Our recruitment age is either getting younger or I'm just getting older," he quips and I grin.

"Simon Remington this is Sheriff Roy Elam," I introduce.

Simon immediately holds out his hand for the Sheriff to take. "Nice to meet you, sir," he says politely.

"The same here, Mr. Remington," he answers shaking the small hand.

Simon smiles then I point him toward Ecklie. "This is . . ."

"We met earlier," he interrupts then presses back against my legs.

"Yes. Nice to see you again, Simon," Ecklie says in a mocking tone. "Where's your mother?"

"She's with Jim," he dutifully answers.

"And where is . . . ?" Ecklie begins.

"And Jim is right here," comes the answer as both he and Clara round the corner. "That boy can move when he wants to."

"Unless he's supposed to clean his room," she quips sending a smile my way. "It's so nice to see you again, Gil."

I return her smile and do something I don't normally do at the office – I give her a hug. This family just brings it out in me.

"We're a day early, I know," she tells me when I let her go. "Mitch was called in to help set up so we arrived about 4:00 this morning, got a few hours sleep before Simon woke us up insisting we come see where you worked. So, here we are. We should've called but . . ."

"No need," I find myself saying. "Has anyone taken you around?"

"Nick did and we already toured the morgue."

"You did?" I say as Simon quickly nods.

"It was neat. We didn't see any bodies but Doc Robbins showed us his collection of x-rays. I didn't know you could swallow a baseball."

"And you remember what Doc Robbins said," Jim began.

"He didn't want to see me again accept on my own two feet and nothing crammed down my throat." Simon smiled then looked at me. "Doc Robbins is really nice."

"Yes, he is," I answer looking toward Jim who gives me a helpless little shrug. Oh, how I want Elam to say 'we'll do this meeting tomorrow, Gil' but no luck there.

"The Sheriff is waiting, Grissom." Ecklie's voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard to my teeth.

"I'm taking these two to breakfast, Gil," Jim breaks in before I say something I shouldn't. "We'll be at Lily's when you're done."

"Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."

And maybe take Sara with me. Or not. Is that a good thing to drop her and Simon in the same room on such short notice? I might have to worry that one over a bit.

"We can put off this meeting, Gil," Elam finally says and I see Ecklie shoot him a dark look.

"No. You've already changed your schedule for me." I turn to Clara. "I'll catch up as soon as I can and, if I miss you, I can meet you at the MGM later. Maybe help Mitch with the set up."

"Sounds good," she answers. "It was so good to meet you, Sheriff. Mr. Ecklie."

"The pleasure was mine," Elam responds.

"Come on, Simon. What are you going to have for breakfast?" Jim asks as he raises his brows at me before ushering the two of them toward the exit.

"An omelet."

"What?"

"Yeah. Four eggs, ham and cheese. Yummy."

Jim laughs and Clara shakes her head and I so want to be going with them. Instead a cleared throat pulls my attention back toward Ecklie.

"Shall we?" he says in a gleeful voice that drips with contempt.

Inwardly I sigh. "After you," I say adding a fake mincing grin and wait until the two men disappear into the Sheriff's office. Taking one last longing look at the exit, I duck in after them.

"Take a seat, Gil," Elam says and I do, not bothering to look at Ecklie even though I know he's staring at me. "First off I wanted to say how nice it is to have you back with us and you're doing a marvelous job as Field Officer."

Well, that was . . . "Ah, thank you," I answer, secretly pleased that he took the time to tell me in front of Ecklie. Bad, I know.

"And so I wasn't surprised when I started getting calls from people who require your services."

"About that . . ." I begin but stop as he raises a hand.

"I've actually been considering the idea of letting you take those jobs or, at least, the ones that pique your interest."

My head snaps over to Ecklie when he chokes and I contemplate slapping him _really_ hard on the back, but he soon has himself under control. Damn. An opportunity missed.

"Why would you do that?" he asks, coughs a few more times and wipes at his eyes. Elam didn't move a muscle to help. Hmm.

"Well, because I think it's a grand idea of promoting the LVPD and our CSI unit especially," Elam responds.

"We're already at #2," Ecklie reminds the Sheriff.

"I know," Elam says with a shake of the head. "And it's all because of him."

He holds out his hand in my direction and my brows rise and I so have to clench my teeth together to keep the smile off my face before I turn a look on Ecklie. Um, there's, I'm pretty sure, there's steam coming out of his ears.

"Grissom is one of many who've taken us to that position, Sheriff," he manages through clenched teeth. "He's not solely responsible . . ."

"One, he solved the Paul Millander case," Elam begins. "Two, he caught Syd Goggle and proved the FBI wrong. Three, he managed to get Tom Haviland convicted despite having zero time to do it. Four, he found the Blue Paint killer. And five, he saved Nick Stokes because of an _ant_, among so many other cases."

"Paul Millander committed suicide. Catherine Willows killed Goggle before he could brain Grissom. The Blue Paint Killer put a bag over his head."

"And your point is?" I ask. I can't help it. Ecklie turns a nasty glare on me.

"Someone like _you_ shouldn't be getting perks for other people's work."

I sail right past the 'someone like you' comment and zero in on something else that I must've been missing out on. "What perks?"

"Conrad . . ." Elam tried to interject.

Ecklie turned toward him. "He's _not_ a good representative of the LVPD or CSI. The man tried to commit suicide or have you forgotten that?"

I raise an eyebrow then watch as Elam sits up straight, his eyes turning to steel and I'm glad he's not looking at me.

"Are you questioning my decision because you don't think Grissom deserves this or because it's not you?" Ecklie opens his mouth then quickly closes it. "Because based on the reports you've been handing in, I'm figuring it's because it's not you."

"I just think . . .

"If you were thinking, Conrad, none of those words you just said would've come out of your mouth." Elam turns a look on me. "I'm very sorry about that, Gil."

"It's all right," I say with a shake of the head.

"No, Gil, it's not," Elam returns. Slowly, I nod. "So, here is the list of people who've called me. Take your pick or do nothing. It's up to you. Just give Ms. Willows ample time to work around your schedule."

"I can't believe this," Ecklie mumbles as I take the list from the Sheriff.

"I would think you'd be happy if I was here less, Conrad," I finally say glancing over the list.

"I would be happy if you weren't here at all!"

I glance at him and wait. It takes a moment for him to realize what he just said. What he said in _front _of the Sheriff. It's a priceless look.

"Okay," Elam says as he stands. I get to my feet and take his offered handshake. "Thank you for staying over. Now, you'd better hurry up before they finish breakfast without you."

"I appreciate this, sir."

"Just go do what you do and have fun," he says waving me away. I smile and head for the door. "Not you, Conrad. We have a few things to discuss."

I don't turn around because I'm smiling like an idiot and that just wouldn't be proper. Besides, Elam was right. I do have a breakfast to get too.

**Sara**

"You should probably call Grissom and tell him the bad news," Greg suggests as I return to our table with extra napkins, a bottle of ketchup, a short stack of pancakes and a road map.

"What bad news?" I ask, handing him a napkin and the ketchup.

"That if he wants ta see ya again he'll need ta order up a choppa," he explains in a bad New York mobster-like accent. I smile and peer out the dirty window. "Do you think he would?" he asks. "Order up a chopper, I mean, in a dramatic, movie like way. If you needed it."

I smirk at him and pour syrup on my pancakes.

"I think he would," he says, answering his own question.

"Oh?" is all I say.

"Well, yeah. The guy loves you, Sara. Everyone knows that," he answers taking a bite out of his three patty greasy burger, or 'cow on a bun' as the menu calls it, then wipes his mouth with a napkin. "He's just taking his own sweet time is all. But, if you needed a chopper, he'd get you one."

I smile again and he returns it.

Everything's been going well between Gil and me. It was nice having brunch with Paul and Annie and feeling very welcome in Gil's house. I noted my stuff was still where I'd left it. That made me feel like my chances are increasing.

I know, I know, I shouldn't think like that. If I think like that I start getting confident and that's never good.

"So are you ever going to tell him about that photo you carry around?" he asks of me and I quickly find something interesting to look at on the bottom of my shoe. He laughs. "Personally, I wish I had someone who did that for me. I think it's cool." He leans over the table, his voice low. "I actually think it's sweet and he would, too, if you told him."

"I'm not telling him anything," I finally answer.

"Why not, Sara? Afraid you'll jinx it?"

"Yes," comes out before I can stop it and I look away.

"Oh," he says and I glance back, all silliness gone. "I never took you for a superstitious person."

"I'm not," I answer then fiddle with my napkin.

"But there's absolutely no reason to tempt fate," he finishes for me and I slowly nod. "Been there," he admits before taking another bite of his burger.

I sigh. "I made a promise to him that I wouldn't push, that I'd let him set the pace. If it takes forever, it takes forever. I'm just happy he's still here, still willing to try."

Greg smiles then and I tilt my head at him. "You're like catnip to Grissom. He can't get enough of you." I shake my head. "You know the best thing about the lab is all the glass walls. If you take a look there are all sorts of things you can learn."

"Like what?" I ask, curious despite myself.

"Like Hodges always checks himself in the mirror before heading over to see Wendy. Or how the girls up front make sure they stop Nick every time he comes through the door. Or how Grissom's eyes follow you when you walk down the hall."

"He doesn't," I protest but not very hard.

He smiles and readies his burger for another bite. "Catnip."

I giggle then jump a little when 'Dance of the Bumble Bee' erupts from my phone.

"Someone's ears are burning," Greg manages around his burger.

"Hey," I say as nonchalantly as I can avoiding the smirk Greg's giving me.

_ "Hi. You still stuck in traffic?" _I just love the sound of his voice.

"Yep. But we found this great little truck stop and we're waiting it out."

"_Hopefully, it won't be too much longer."_

"Yeah. I'd like to get home sometime today. How did your meeting go with the Sheriff?"

"_It was interesting. I pissed off Ecklie and didn't even say anything untoward."_

"Then it was a good day." He laughs a little. A sweet sound.

"_Simon says he reminds him of Kreacher while I opted for Gollum. Jim's settled on rat bastard."_

"Simon? He's here early."

"_Yeah, it surprised me, too, when I heard 'Uncle Gil!' coming at me." _There's that joy I always hear when he talks of Simon. _"Do you think you'll be back soon?"_

I look out the window. "Probably not."

"_Do I need to have Catherine send a chopper out to get you guys."_

My brows rise. "Ah, no, we're good. I have a map and we're trying to figure out which back roads to take."

"_If you're sure."_

"We are."

"_Then I want to ask if it would be all right if I spent a couple of hours with Simon today. I know I have him all day tomorrow so I could just wait for you to get back and . . ."_

"Gil, you haven't seen him in a while. Go have fun."

"_I didn't want you to think I . . ."_

"Gil, he's your nephew right?"

_ "Well, a pseudo nephew."_

"A nephew. Go spend time with him. You can tell me all about it tonight."

_ "You're sure."_

"Yes, I'm sure."

_"Okay. I . . ." _There's a voice in the background but I can't make out the words._ "Um, I have a question for you. Please remember that you may say no and it won't bother me in the slightest."_

"All right." Ah oh.

_ "Simon would like to go to the butterfly exhibit at the Bellagio Botanical Garden tomorrow."_

I relax. "You boys go and have a good time."

_ "Here's the thing," _he said, his voice lowering._ "I was planning on asking you to go next week as a sort of . . . well, kind of a . . . date." _My jaw drops a bit and I turn away from Greg. _"Sara?"_

"Ah, yeah. Well, that's, that's really nice. I mean the . . . date thing."

_ "Yeah. I thought it would be a nice place to . . . you know."_

"Yeah."

_ "Soooooo, I was wondering . . . well, actually Simon was wondering if you'd like to . . . come with us instead."_

My mouth drops again and I nearly drop the phone. "Simon wants me . . ."

_ "Yes. He said, and I quote, 'Maybe your friend Sara can come with us and I can help you figure her out'." _I laugh and he chuckles_. "He means it, too, so if you'd rather not face a tiny Torquemada that's completely understandable. We can go next week like I'd originally planned."_

"I'd love to."

_"Okay, we'll go next w . . ."_

"No, Gil. I meant I'd love to go with you and Simon."

_ "I'm not kidding about the inquisition here."_

"It's fine. I don't mind." And I don't. Seeing Simon and Gil together could be educational.

_ "Sara, I'm serious. Are you ready to tell a seven year old why you did what you did? That'll probably be his first question."_

"Ah . . ." Man, I'm stepping into something here.

_ "Yeah. He got me a couple of times with questions like that."_

"Did you answer them?"

_ "I did. And it helped. I didn't stop answering his questions either so he knows more about you than you might expect."_

"Is he mad at me?" Even though I've never met him, I don't want him to hate me already.

_ "He doesn't seem to be. Confused, maybe, but not mad. So, if you're willing to be hit with hard questions, we would love to have you join us."_

"Well, what about you?"

_ "What about me?"_

"Will you be fine with me answering those questions?"

He chuckles again._ "It might embarrass me a bit, but you and I have already gone head to head with Philip over this same ground. Besides, I don't ever want to go back to keeping quiet when we should be talking. I've learned a lot from Simon."_

"Then maybe I will, too. I accept Simon's invitation." I really want to meet this kid.

_ "Really?"_

I laugh. "Yes, Gil, really."

_ "Okay, then I'll come by at 9:30am to pick you up. I'll make sure Catherine keeps any doubles away from us."_

"Good luck with that."

_ "I'm standing in for her on Tuesday-Wednesday so I can use that as leverage."_

"Well, then_, _you guys have fun today and I'll see you tonight."

_ "Okay." _Shuffling sounds come through the phone_. "Yes, she said yes." _

I hear a joyful noise from his end. "He's excited."

_ "Yes, he is. Thank you, Sara."_

"Of course."

_ "I'll see you tonight."_

"Okay. Have fun. Bye." I stare at my phone a moment before laying it on the table.

"Sara?" comes Greg's voice at me and slowly I look at him. "Everything okay?"

I smile at him. "Yeah. I'm going to meet Simon tomorrow and let him grill me."

"You know how kids are, especially smart ones. Is that wise?"

I shrug and put my phone away. "Who knows. But I do have an answer to your question." He frowns while I smile. "Grissom _would_ send a chopper for me."

* * *

_Stargate – a passageway to other planets (film/TV show)  
Enos Bent - the turd that went after Gil in court  
The photo Sara carries around is of Grissom with Hank and the Kids - all sleeping  
Kreacher – a house elf from Harry Potter  
Gollum - from Lord of the Rings_

* * *

_There you go. Simon's back! I love that kid. Wonder what he'll say to Sara. Maybe he won't say anything. Nah. Questions will come. And, just for you purists out there (like me) there is a butterfly exhibit at the Bellagio Conservatory and Botanical Gardens. (Not sure if it's permanent or not.)_

_Please review. You know how much I crave attention. Until next time. :-D_


End file.
